What the Helga?
by HumanDictionary
Summary: The adult life of Arnold Philip Shortman falls victim to an intergalactic civil war and extraterrestrial geopolitical conspiracies. But why? (Began as a challenge from Flower princess 11).
1. Somewhere on Thoraxia

The bunker was just as he'd imagine it: orderly save for a fine layer of dust.

All it needed was some TLC on that front before he could get to work, and work he did for six months in that bunker, but when that day came for K'ciuq T'tel-tarb to gaze upon the fruits of his labor, it was worth it.

Out of all the blueprints left in the bunker, the Reality Distortion Cannon (RDC) was the simplest to construct. Simple, yet powerful. All one had to do was type in the set memory span of the desired individual, aim at the temple of their skull and their memories were history. In earth weaponry terms, it had the power of an M16 but was as easy to carry as a pistol. The catch was that in order for the RDC to truly work, the beam needed to be locked onto the target's genetic signature.

Collections of trays of vials and specimen slides rested on an adjacent table. K'ciuq thumbed through them until he found the sample he desired. His face curled into a maniacal grin as he held up the vial containing a teal scrap of cloth to the light. The interplanetary scientist's luck only got better as he pulled the scrap out. It had been rolled up to fit in the glass container and when removed was the size of a dollar bill. With this scrap, K'ciuck could reap enough DNA to obliterate ten lifetimes worth of memories, a statement only proved once he finished reducing the DNA to liquid form.

But all he needed to do was destroy enough memories to send the former owner of the cloth scrap back to where it all began…

Earth.

Hillwood, WA.

PS 118.


	2. The Shortmans

Earth. May 9th, 2021. USA. Washington State. 

If one were to ask his childhood friends where they saw Arnold Shortman working, an office setting would be the last place they'd expect.

He was brilliant and outgoing, a humanitarian type. The kind of kid who gave hope to a crabby authors and gloomy ornithophiles, who restored relationships between fathers and sons, brothers, and sisters and who saved two civilizations from being wiped off the earth. He helped a boy kick a crippling addiction of chocolate, saw to the success of an irrelevant crooner in the autumn of his years, and spared the city of Hillwood from obliteration at the hands of Alphonse Perrier du von Scheck. Even just by being born, he calmed a volcano. One would say he deserves Sainthood, but who needs that when you're already worshiped as a god?

But Arnold had no regrets about it all. It wasn't like he was rotting away under fluorescent lighting, living some Dilbertian hell in a cubicle day in and day out. Far from it; he was still the same altruistic and morally driven individual that everyone remembered from childhood, and bought that attitude with him to his job as head of the Human Resources department at the R.W.L. Fashion Company's administrative headquarters. His co-workers knew him as an approachable and personable guy with an even temper whose office door was always open, a sentient suggestion box so to speak.

Some nights as he headed home, Arnold would contemplate the irony of his work address; 66613 Riverside Highway. From the windows of the company gym, he could see along the horizon his childhood home town at the end of the highway; Hillwood.

Those who've seen Arnold musing at that ledge by the weight rack were treated to the sight of their usually levelheaded and rational co-worker's face breaking into a nostalgic and bittersweet smile and maybe a couple of silent tears as he gazed upon the horizon. He had a lot of memories of that city skyline as a kid and some days missed it, but at 35, he had a family of his own now that needed providing for. He'd sold the boardinghouse to the county historical society who used it as a museum/office for the society's president and now lived half an hour from work in the other direction, a nondescript suburb outside of Tacoma. Phil and Gertrude both saw 100 before their time came, but Miles and Stella lived a block over from the current Shortman residence.

Again, Arnold regretted nothing. In a month from today, he would celebrate twelve years of blissful marriage to what he called "the best part of Hillwood", a girl from his youth named Helga Geraldine Pataki. Whenever he thought of his childhood with her, St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians immediately leapt to mind; _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud._ _It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs._ _Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth._ _It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres._ While not an overtly religious man, Arnold always meditated on those words as a child when dealing with her; elementary school was a blur of name-calling, threats and spitballs on her end and frayed nerves as well as resigned sighs of 'whatever you say' on his end. But every now and then, the façade she put up would crack and the real Helga shone through; more loyal, brave and even loving than she let on. And now they shared a life together not only as man and wife, but as mother and father.

"Dad's home!"

Arnold always enjoyed watching his nine year old children bound toward the door upon coming home. Seeing them next to each other always elicited an inward chuckle. There were fraternal twins, and then there were these two: Eleanor Kimberly was the spitting image of Grandma Stella, right down to her distinctively ovular, some would say football-shaped, head. Cecil Miles by contrast was a genetic mish-mosh of Pataki-Shortman DNA: Grandpa Miles' head (and by extension the pronounced Shortman chin) but with Grandpa Bob's hair, nose and smile. Both children sported the Pataki uni brow and glasses because of Grandma Miriam's eyesight. Even their status of twins was questionable, seeing as how they technically didn't share a birthday. Cecil was born on the afternoon of July 21st while Eleanor entered into the world two minutes after midnight of July 23rd.

"Honey, you're just in time." Helga says after rising from her laptop and giving her husband a peck on the cheek. "Cecil made this amazing pork loin for us."

"Really now?" Arnold said proudly tussling his son's hair. "That knack around the kitchen of yours will take you far young man."

"I'll be just like Aunt Olga." The Shortman lad replied.

Helga suppressed a laugh. It was true, since the age of four Cecil had bonded well with his mother's older sister as the little helper on holidays with the food, all of his own volition. At first Olga was apprehensive, but grew to appreciate having someone to bounce fancy food ideas off of and regale with tales of her various trips as a college student studying abroad over the years.

"Only _you're_ not a pest about it like _she_ is!" Eleanor shot back in jest.

Arnold rolled his eyes and told his daughter to settle down. He knew Aunt Olga had _always_ been the textbook definition of "extra", though marriage did settle her down a great deal. Still, the older Pataki sister's personality continued to be unintentionally overbearing and just like her mother before her, Eleanor found it all aggravating to say the least.

The night went by peacefully as they ate dinner and tied up any loose homework ends before settling down with an episode or two of Pop Daddy on DVD. As the kids finally fell asleep, Arnold looked down at the snoozing figure of his wife and wondered how he got to be the luckiest guy in the world. Here was this amazing, talented woman and of all the people she could have married in her life, she wanted him and him alone.

Still stirring, Arnold thumbed through the little wedding album that sat on the nightstand near his side of the bed. One particular set of pictures causes him to choke; Helga being given away by Grandpa Phil while her bridesmaids Lila, Olga and Phoebe look on and a group photo of the bride and groom with Stella, Miles and Grandpa Phil again, but now holding a modest portrait of Grandma Gertrude on his lap. Before long, he puts on his sleeping mask and joins Helga in slumber.

Outside, a figure stirs on the roof, fiddling with something under the light of the moon. It lays a small metal package at his feet and bows three times speaking thusly: "Hear o my blood my bones and my breath, the promise of your kinsman K'ciuq son of Larberec. The T'tel-tarb lineage shall be avenged."

K'ciuq rises himself and takes the firearm in his possession. Using the suction pads on his fingers and toes, the extraterrestrial slinks along the side of the Shortman house. A window is jimmied open by a modest crack and K'ciuq aims the little ray gun is aimed at the sleeping figure of Arnold Shortman with his prehensile tongue. It takes one last look at the settings before firing; every memory from 5th grade onward has been targeted for obliteration. All that counted now was that the barrel of his weapon was aimed at the temple, otherwise the desired effect was up to chance.

All should have gone perfectly, were it not for a pair of frisky raccoons.

As their demonic duet of romance pierced the otherwise soundless night, K'ciuq loses his balance and with it his aim. The trigger does get pulled, sending out a blast of green light all over the bedroom of Arnold and Helga Shortman. From the bushes, K'ciuq scurries away from the scene and the litany of expletives following a muffled shout of 'Crimeny!'


	3. Beamed

**The future holds more pitter-patters of tiny little feet**

 **The future holds another time your lap serves at a seat**

 **And so I Helga Shortman announce with thunderous glee**

 **Get ready Miles and Stella for grandchild number three!**

The elder Shortman couple looked at their daughter in law as she took a bite out of her sixth waffle this morning and chased it down with a swig out of the pint glass of Orange Juice. It had been almost two hours ago they received a call that she had big news for them that had to be related in person. Upon entering the house, the two of them were greeted with a breakfast buffet of waffles assorted fruits, orange juice and whipped cream and the aforementioned poem in the center of it all.

"I kinda had a feeling for a while now." She began. "This was the third night in a row where my dreams involved swimming. _This_ time there was stuff in the lake. Lots of plants and rocks mostly, but what really got my attention were these two fish swimming side, they looked so identical. Then this little fish swam behind them, I watched the third fish give its all to be behind the two other fish."

"And Arnold doesn't know." Miles asked

"Why do you think I called you guys first?" She replied while making Arnold's portion of breakfast. "He's still out like a light."

"Well it's 10 now, he should be up sooner or later." Stella replied.

As if by magic, the faint noise of someone using the shower interrupted the trio's conversation. For all of five minutes (or even less) the water ran, ending as quickly as it had begun.

"You know, I'm sure Helga would happily bring Arnold his breakfast upstairs." Miles replies with a wink.

"Oh you." Stella playfully hisses. "Thank heaven the kids weren't here."

"Please Stella." She sighs after pouring Arnold's drink. "After Phil, There's nothing Miles can say at this point that could make me blink…"

The waffle iron dinged telling Helga that Arnold's portion of breakfast was finished. She dutifully prepares a platter and proceeds to make her way upstairs. At the foot of the stairwell, Helga takes a look at the collection of photographs on the wall of her family. But it's the portrait of them taking their bows in Romeo and Juliet that makes her heart stir.

If someone had told Helga all those years ago that she'd share a life with Arnold Shortman, she would have referred them to Dr. Bliss. To say her childhood was unhappy was a massive understatement between her lame mom, blowhard dad, and perfect older sister; to cope she became a very cold person to all she laid eyes on. But as the trope goes, you are who you are in the dark. And the Helga in the dark was a brave and caring soul with an active and romantic imagination-all of which centered on her now husband. It was the fantasies of this life that kept her from succumbing to the front she put on of _Hillwood's Resident Tsundere_.

 **(Meanwhile upstairs)**

… _Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down_ _  
_ _Letting the days go by, water flowing underground_ _  
_ _Into the blue again after the money's gone_ _  
_ _Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground…_

Within seconds of peeling his sleeping mask off, Arnold goes to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Gripping his forehead in pain, Arnold makes a grab for the boxy device. It is when he runs it through his fingers that the red lights go off in the man's head. This wasn't his potato clock that blared his name each morning. This wasn't his super cool bedroom at Sunset Arms. And how on earth did he get so tall?

Finally having his bearings, Arnold sees the little clock radio read 9:58 in the morning.

"Crud! I got to get to school." He mumbles to himself as he leaps out of bed.

Arnold bolts from his bed and into the bathroom where he splashes ice cold water on his face. Rather than dissolve back to consciousness and wake up in a cold sweat at his real home, he finds that this plane of existence is all too real, just like the reflection of the 35 year old version of himself staring back in the mirror, albeit with a massive and ugly bump on his head. Arnold pokes at the glass as he gets a better look at himself. Age was alright to him all things considered. He wasn't gray haired just yet, his physique was respectable enough despite a slight dad-bod and a 5 O'clock shadow dusted the space under his nose.

Taking a gander at the bathtub to his left, Arnold reasons that a cold shower would best end this nightmare before anything too crazy occurred. Five minutes later, he realizes that this was one of those times he was wrong. The image of the same 35 year old man looked back at him in the mirror. That said, any time spent under the water takes some of the edge off.

"Ok. This isn't too bad…" He said to himself whilst rummaging through his wardrobe. "Maybe the dream isn't over yet. All I got to do is just ride it out like I did all the other ones."

Arnold steals a quick glance at his new reflection in the little mirror on his dresser and smiles weakly. It wasn't his usual look, but it'd do; his flannel shirt (which he finally grew into) over a teal t-shirt from a Dino Spumoni tribute band _SPAMoni_. But what really got him was not being able to find his little blue hat.

"It's not like anything _too_ bad has happened. I'm just an adult is all-"

The adult Arnold froze at the sight of a woman mooning over the collection of photographs at the bottom of the steps. She was a tall specimen with blue eyes and a warm smile, especially in the throes of nostalgic euphoria. Most would be pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a presence like this; but Arnold Shortman's heart plummets like a criminal at the end of a noose.

Holding together the long blonde hair cascading down her back in a ponytail was an eerily familiar pink ribbon.

"Sweetheart you're finally awake!" Helga says sweetly. "Don't worry about work, I told them you had a fever. Come have some pancakes."

"Helga…?" he asks raspily.

"Who else did you expect, John Cena?" She chuckles. "Anyway, I was going to bring this up to you but since you're almost downstairs I'll just set it on the table. Miles and Stella are waiting to see you."

After squawking like a confused parrot, Arnold bolted down into the kitchen. Sure enough as the grown-up Helga had said, there sat his long lost parents happily embracing and congratulating him for some odd reason.

"Good morning, Arnold." Stella cooed. "Helga has already filled us in."

"Congratulations young man." Miles beamed. "Now you're really outnumbered huh?"

"'Outnumbered'? 'Congratulations'? 'Pancakes'?" Arnold yelped. "Can someone tell me what on earth is happening? And while we're at it, how they wound up here?"

Helga trepedatiously entered the kitchen.

"Arnold." She said gently caressing her abdomen. "You and I are going to be parents again. We're bringing another child into our home."

Now Arnold was speechless. He had dreams like this before; sudden adulthood, an unwanted marriage to Helga, somehow having children with her, etc. But the presence of his parents was one line too many."

"This…can't…be HAPPENING!" He shouts. "My home is Sunset Arms, my parents are lost in the San Lorenzo Jungles and…and YOU! We're nine, how can we be married. Even if we were old enough for that, you the ONE PERSON ON EARTH I never wanted to marry."

Arnold coldly turns toward the front door of the house.

"Don't go Arnold, I-"

"Wait, let me guess: ' _I love you_?" Arnold bitingly interjects. "Is that what you call tormenting me and my friends night and day? Building spitballs to lob at my, as you call it, football head? Flinging us about the hallway as you thromp through school? You've loathed me Helga. You've loathed me since…aw I don't even know! But from that moment and every moment since I could remember you've been a cold and uncaring person. I've vouched for you only to be rewarded with malevolence. And if this is somehow some disturbingly elaborate plan you've cooked up to mess with me, then you're even more heartless than I could even fathom. Now, I've SOMEHOW got to get to school. I'm late as it is."

A pall of silence strangles the house as the slamming of the door resounds about the house. Tears welled around Helga's eyes as she looked back at her befuddled in-laws and the memories of their night in the temple began to fade and warp like old film. Wasn't she the same Helga that bought them back? That helped save their childhood neighborhood? Who sacrificed those stupid boots to be his personal Santa Claus?

"Did he just say school?" Stella suddenly asked.


	4. Midday Bus to Hillwood

**AN:** ***"Denotes Thoraxian"***

"Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down-"

Even with the cacophony cocooning him, the college kid sitting at the window seat next to him giggling over a group of campers reenacting the Fresh Prince theme snapped Arnold out of his numb impotence. Perhaps it was the irony of it all but nonetheless his posture straightened, his skin got some touch of color back, and his eyes lost that dead stare one associates with shell-shocked soldiers returning from the deepest hell of war.

"I'm sorry. Could you turn that down?" He said in an uncharacteristically curt tone.

"Alright, alright." The man shot back turning down the volume. "Who whizzed in your Raisin Bran, gramps?"

Seeing the look in his eyes, Arnold sighed remorsefully and tapped the kid on his shoulder.

"Oh, what the-?"

"Look, I want to apologize." Arnold replied as he extended his hand to the kid beside him. "I've had a rough morning. The bully who apparently calls herself my wife is pregnant, my parents are back and I'm late for class as it is. And this bus seems to be taking forever."

"Oh. Yeah, that's a bummer and a half." The kid replied. "I bet those kids must be a handful. I know my dad was?"

"Wha-"

"I assume you're at PS 118." The kid replied. "I'm supposed to start fieldwork there tomorrow for my education class. My girlfriend lives nearby and let me crash there. Maybe I'll see you around. What's your name and class you teach?"

Before Arnold could answer, he caught a brief glance of himself in the window's reflection.

" _Oh yeah, I'm apparently thirty-five._ " He thought to himself.

"I'm Arnold." He said quickly. "4th grade homeroom so it's a catch-all, but each of the kids are special in their own way and really good once you get to know them."

" _Quit throwing your voice Simmons!_ "

"That's cool." The boy replied. "I'm Wolfgang Claudell Jr. I'm looking to teach history."

Arnold's eyes shot up.

"Ah, so you've lived in Hillwood I take it." Wolfgang chuckled. "Can't say I blame you. Dad was always a thug before the army made him get his…woah."

Arnold looked out the window to see the imposing building along riverside highway. As he stares intently at the edifice, his head begins to spin; as if he had been stuffed head first into a washing machine.

"The FTi building."

"What?"

"That's the FTi building. Isn't it?" Arnold asked.

"Used to be." Wolfgang Jr. sighed. "My girlfriend did a whole paper on it for Urban Preservation. It turned out that not only was the whole company a complete sham, but the founder had this wicked axe to grind against Hillwood so he tried to rip it down to build some mall."

"Yeah, that…that I know." Arnold said. "I saw the guy get arrested in the end outside my house. But I thought they-"

"A bunch of companies came and went for a while, but then it became the corporate HQ for the Lloyd Fashion Company." Wolfgang Jr. finished. "It's funny, she interviewed a guy from their H.R. department three years back about the whole thing. His name was Arnold too…"

As if by some extraordinary coincidence, Arnold began to have a massive headache. The sensation akin to a white hot blade descending and coming to crash into the unexplainable bump behind his head. He clutched his forehead and let out a moan.

"You ok there man?"

"…really tired." He seethed. "Kinda woozy too…"

Unbeknownst to the two men, a figure two seats over watched the whole scene unfold. As the bus made its last stop before entering Hillwood, he subtly fiddles with his shoelaces before rising himself from the seat and grabbing his umbrella. Upon passing Arnold, he stages a stumble in such a way that the tip of his umbrella lodges itself in his target's right ankle as he descends.

"Ow!" Arnold yelps. "Watch where you poke that thing!"

"My apologies." The man mumbles hoarsely as he hurriedly continues his exit.

What little remains of the ride goes by uneventfully. Arnold and Wolfgang Jr. wordlessly enjoy the journey before they ultimately part ways as the bus makes its final drop-offs in Hillwood. Two stops later, the bus hisses to a halt. Surprisingly refreshed but flummoxed anew, Arnold bounds with all his being towards the doors of PS 118 hoping to account for himself.

 **(Later, in the secret tunnels of Hillwood)**

*"Through the foot you say?"*

The man from the bus steps forward to his superior and takes off the layer of skin around his face. The eyes on his mantis-like head blink rapidly until his sight adjusts to the dark that surrounds him. He then proceeds to nibble at the epidermal gloves until his true gecko-like hands are freed. Once in his true Thoraxian form, the second man bows contritely before his superior.

*"It was my best shot Commander K'ciuq. I assure you the serum entered through his bloodstream."*

*"For your sake Giarc, this better be true."* He responds while opening and examining the chamber of the umbrella gun. *"Hm. Not a drop left. Good work. Keep and eye on this 'Arnold' and make sure he remains in his delirium. The others will take care of the rest."*

Giarc saluted his commander and puts on a new set of gloves. He sets his hat back on his face and begins to depart, but not before turning around and lingering at the foot of the latter to the surface; his stalling is not lost on K'ciuq.

*"Yes, Giarc?"*

*"I must know sir. What did this man do to you?"*

Giarc immediately regrets asking his question as his superior turns his head to face the underling. K'ciuq's countenance turns an ashen color, his nose crinkles as if someone smeared dog droppings underneath his nostrils. Whatever warmth and color his insect-like eyes possess drain into a cold, almost glazed over black.

*"Everything!"*


	5. Principal G

As his finger moved away from the buzzer on the school doorbell, the reality of Arnold's situation began to heavily sink in. He'd gotten to the steps of PS 118, but once again his reflection betrayed him. As much as this was his school and his class, Arnold physically still had two decades on the rest of his fellow students.

But he had no time to reflect on this facet as the receptionist's voice came through the speaker.

"Yes."

"Arnold Shortman, I need to get to class."

"One moment please."

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the door finally clicked open and Arnold entered the school.

"Finally, someone from reality around here." He mutters to himself while passing through the threshold.

As he fully stepped into the school proper, Arnold let out a massive sigh of relief that should have caused his lungs to burst. Not a soul lingered about the hallways as he hesitantly made his way to class. PS 118 had hardly changed since that day roughly a quarter of a century ago when Arnold and his friends made their way to the municipal middle school. One might say that it was as if the school had been frozen in time from the green lockers along the yellow walls to a nondescript water fountain that seemed to beckon him.

"Nobody can fault me for a drink." He thought.

Before Arnold's lips touched the jet of water that rushed from the fountainhead, a year-old newspaper clipping stapled to the bottom left corner caught the corner of his eye. He could have sworn something was familiar about one of the individuals in the photograph of the teachers that played basketball. Standing center amidst the players (and triumphantly holding the ball) was none other than a tall and athletic man of African American ethnicity wearing his college basketball shorts and a commemorative T-Shirt from the event. The blurb underneath read as follows: `

 **The staff of PS 118 (pictured) claim victory over the students in the annual Student v. Teacher charity basketball game held last Saturday at the PS 118 auditorium. Helping to assure a final score of 51-40 was none other than Gerald Johanssen, Team Captain and Principal of the aforementioned school (center). The event netted around $4,200 in ticket sales which went towards the local women's shelter.**

Arnold bolted through the hallway in horror. The sinking feeling of dread he had this morning seeing Helga, Stella and Miles at breakfast came back with a vengeance. Gerald wasn't supposed to be principal. He was supposed to be in Mr. Simmons' class keeping the legends alive amongst his fellow fourth graders, or dominating every sport they played at recess. But sure enough, Arnold's heart sunk into his colon as he saw the name of his best friend on top of the principal office's door, or rather the moniker Principal G.

"How…is…this…happening?" He squeaked feebly.

(elsewhere in the hallway)

Gerald's morning couldn't have gone better. He strutted through the halls on his way back from the bathroom as if he had just been crowned king of the world. And in his own mind, he had; less than twenty-four hours ago, he and Phoebe Heyerdahl basking in the glow of a candlelight booth for two, a pleasantly filling meal, and the slight buzz of a nice Bordeaux.

" _Oh, Gerald," she sighed with a high-pitched hiccup. "That was satisfying."_

" _Yeah…" He sighed with a laugh._

" _What?"_

" _Oh… Nothing."_

" _Gerald." She slurred sing-songily._

" _It's all just so funny." He said. "We had these gift cards to Chez Pierre for months and then…poof. Cockroach infestation hits them and Chez Paris too. It made me think about that dinner with Arnold and Helga back in Simmons class is all."_

" _Oooh right." She replied with a giggle. "Speaking of which, we got to send her a thank you. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for the strings she pulled."_

"' _The way Bob ate here, he could've put you through Yale twice over Bucko!'" He responded mimicking Helga's voice. "Classic Pataki."_

 _A waiter passes their table and scratches his nose at Gerald who gives a wink in response. Before Phoebe catches on, he stands up from the booth and clears his throat._

" _Phoebe. I've known you for practically my whole life." He began. "Even as kids, you were quite the go-getter. And now, you're an accomplished linguist, you graduated first in your class at Georgetown, and practically got tenure the minute you began teaching at Puget Sound. And I…I've known many guys who'd feel threatened and emasculated by that. But I'm just happy that this charming, intelligent, stunning young woman who could have anyone in the world chose me, a goofy hometown dude who's the principal at their old K-4."_

 _Every head in the restaurant begun to turn toward their booth. The waiter from earlier exited from the kitchen holding a particularly savory slice of chocolate covered cheesecake._

" _We've had all these adventures together…" he continued. "…granted many of them were second fiddle to our best friends but still. I wouldn't trade them for a damn thing because you were by my side through all of them. And now, there's one adventure I'd like to embark upon."_

 _Gerald bent his knee as the waiter handed him the cake. Her eyes widened as she saw the topaz ring of white gold that sat atop her dessert underneath the perfect dollop of whipped cream. The obligatory chorus of gasps and oohs filled the steakhouse._

" _Phoebe Heyerdahl, love of my life. Will you marry me?"_

 _It took only half a second before the usually soft-spoken girl repeatedly squealed her acceptance of Gerald's proposal to thunderous applause._

Gerald's phone suddenly began to vibrate as he rounded the hallway and came upon the sight of his best friend kneeling in a shell-shocked fashion before his office door. Ducking behind the corner, he glanced over the series of texts from Helga nearly an hour ago that morning.

 **HS: Ger, I don't know what's gotten into Arnold, he snapped at me this morning without a warning and said he's going to PS 118.**

 **HS: Gerald, Gerald Johannsen.**

 **HS: ANSWER HAIR BOY!**

Gerald's eyes widened, before going about his morning business, he vaguely remembered hearing Arnold state that he was late for class through the buzzer and thought it a joke; but as he got closer and saw the look of catatonic fright on the face of his football-headed friend, a chill began to envelope the hall. Upon taking in the sight of his friend standing before him, Arnold violently jumped up from the ground like cold water had been poured upon him and began to beat his head on the wall.

"No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. THIS ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE! I WANT TO WAKE UP! WHY IN THE NAME OF GOD AM I NOT WAKING UP!"

"Arnold what are you doing?" Gerald hissed as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders.

"…unless… It's not a dream…oh God no…"

"C'mon man, not in the hallway."

"This is worse…so much worse…. Rhonda… stupid marriage predictor…"

"Marriage predi-? Just step into my office and tell me what's bugging you."

Arnold grabbed at the collar of Gerald's shirt and pulled him close. Looking into his eyes, the tall-haired boy could see his uncharacteristically empty pupils dilate in fear as

"You. Have. To. Help. Me." He croaked in desperation. "Helga has sunk her marital claws into me and somehow convinced some strangers to pose as my mom and dad to congratulate me on our kid. Tell me this is just a nightmare. Tell me how I can wake up. Please, I can't be a dad."

"Arnold, you're already a father to Eleanor and Cecil." Gerald said. "Helga's been your wife for almost ten years now. I'm sure this is just a midlife crisis gone terribly wrong but I got to get to my office-"

Though the yelling stopped, Arnold was still far from chill. His eyes suddenly darkened upon the mention of his twins and but his face went ashen. As his body went limp, he released Gerald but started to back away as if his friend was a ghost

"You're in on it too." He hissed anemically as he left the school. "This day just gets better and better…"

(in the office of Principal G.)

 **GJ: Helga, I LITERALLY just got your texts. Arnold got here, started bugging out about Rhonda and that marriage predictor game, and then just left like, five minutes ago.**

 **Whatever happened, this is bad.**

Gerald drummed his fingers and alternated between staring intently at the acknowledgement that his text had been read and replaying his friend's awkward visit.

Arnold was always the type to never sweat the small stuff; and some game schoolyard marriage he played twenty some-odd years ago definitely qualified. _**Especially**_ after he wound up falling in love with the girl whose name was picked 110 times. But the image of his friend twitching like an electrocuted bug less than ten minutes ago haunted him deeply.

 **HS: Oh boo-flippity-hoo!** **Is he really all bent out of shape over THAT?! He's halfway to 40, Rhonda is his boss, and we're about to have kid number 3, so if there's ANY way for him to get his marbles together I'd KINDA like to know.**

 **HS: Where did he go afterwards.**

 **GJ: I don't know. He just bolted as quickly as he entered. I called Patty and told her to keep her eyes peeled.**

 **HS: Patty's not an officer anymore**

 **GJ: Look, I didn't know what else to do. He was just so… Look, Phoebe and I will stop over after work.**

 **HS: Ok, see you two then.**

(University of Puget Sound)

Phoebe sighed in relief as she placed the last blue exam book on the graded pile. Her class for that semester's 101 class did about as well as she expected them to. As she waited for the students taking her next course to shuffle in, she looked down at the little ring Gerald placed on her finger and thought about how amazing it all was.

Her ascent through the annals of U.P.S. faculty was nothing short of legendary; upon earning her masters and doctorate in the field, Phoebe had been hired as an adjunct in the linguistics department seven years ago and in nine months impressed enough people to make tenure upon the retirement of her former mentor Dr. Okrand. Phoebe's star only continued to shine on campus as she became the de-facto face of the department; giving speeches, teaching classes and even being recommended to fill at Columbia when one of their professors underwent heart surgery.

Yet, as she looked at her ring again, the mixed reactions from her colleagues began to haunt her. As progressive as her work climate was, there was still an undercurrent among scattered members of the male faculty that Phoebe was this asexual she-stomping tiger lady who'd probably die at her desk. On the flip side of the coin, some of her female associates saw Phoebe as the St. George to Patriarchy's dragons.

Bringing Phoebe back to earth was the sudden and violent buzzing of her phone. After peeking around the room to make sure no students were around, and run the risk of the "no phones out in class" rule, she peeked quickly at the message and let out a gasp.

 **GJ: Whatever plans you got after work cancel them if you can. Something's up with Arnold and Helga needs us right now.**


	6. Earth Time 11:40 Dispatch

Arnold has just departed PS 118. In the vernacular of this planet's larval population: he's shook. He listlessly hangs around the school grounds and appears to have another headache as he passes an annex to a theatre bearing the name of Woodrow Wilson whom I can only assume is some tribal chieftain of old. I manage to dispatch another beam from beneath the overpass and he's back to normal, or at least our preferred level of normal.

In waiting for Arnold, I made an important discovery that may complicate our overall mission. Covert invasion tactics on this planet, particularly with weapons from our world are impossible to say the least because of the atmospheric conditions. "Air" as it is known by the inhabitants is composed primarily of the following elements by volume: Nitrogen, Oxygen, Argon, CO2, Neon Helium and Methane. We already know from previous attempts that the last three elements alone (trace as they are) have caused suffocation and internal implosion. One can combat this with something like an "inhaler", but even then, our vocal chambers would be compromised. However, our weaponry is no match for the dense qualities of Nitrogen in the air which cause them to explode upon discharge. A phenomenon which explains the destruction of your weapon last night. Were we to make our armaments from scraps, as I have recommended, they'd be more efficient even at the risk of setting our plans back at least 25 lunar cycles in our time.

Also, I seem to recall we had a third member of our group. At the risk of sounding insubordinate,

what mission is he on that we hear nothing from him? It seems a bit absurd that I must report every time Arnold scratches his nose while his end has gone dark. My hope is that he takes the nature of this mission seriously is all.

Giarc to K'ciuq. 11:40am Earth Time.


	7. How Many Special People Change?

The funeral parlor was empty, save for five people in the front pew and the priest. This did not phase Melchior as he sat while the priest completed the requiem mass. Adding to the hollow vibe of the room was the fact that only one photograph of the deceased sat atop the closed coffin looking back at the paltry assemblage of mourners: an imposing and sharp dressed man in a blue suit with black Regan-esque hair and cold green eyes. Miniature copies of the photo were copied onto the funeral cards distributed to the mourners.

 **Alphonse Perrier du Von Sheck**

 **Born: May 4th 1947**

 **Died: April 30th 2021**

 **O God and Heavenly Father, Grant to us the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.**

Melchior was never close to the man he'd always heard of as "Uncle Al", his presence only existed in pictures, fuzzy memories and the highest of high-end gifts he would give on Christmas and birthdays in absentia. He was a businessman, a CEO to be precise, working tirelessly at the helm of Future Tech Industries to fight urban decay head on via redeveloping broken cities into upscale malls and condominiums. Apart from the funeral, Melchior only met Uncle Al once before when he showed up one Easter dinner; and even then, his presence coincidentally lined up with his next major project which took place a town over from where they lived.

Then came the arrest and trial.

Melchior was an aimless seventeen-year-old when the news of Alphonse Perrier du Von Sheck's fall from grace made headlines, and his life was dissected by a scandal hungry public. As much as the young man put up a front of being withdrawn over the whole deal; the constant sight of seeing Uncle Al either remorselessly smirking at the defendant table or having another outburst in court ate at his insides. For as long as Melchior was capable of cognizant thought, his parents ubiquitously dropped the name of his father's older brother whenever success was concerned. They always pushed him to major in Business, intern at FTi, and make a good enough impression on Uncle Al to be left the company. But deep down, this was not the life Melchior ever saw for himself.

If one good thing came from the ensuing dumpster fire which ignited in the wake of FTi's collapse, it was that a that Melchior could finally tell his parents of his secret interest in History and that he was going to major in Historic Preservation, a decision they naturally balked at. They wrung their hands in sorrow over their only son "throwing his life away for some dead-end basket-weaving degree" and the prospect of him "spending his life cooking fries at Burger World" because he "wasted his potential." But he was resolute in his decision, even in the face of being cut off from his family. Upon graduating from college, Melchior's thesis on the Tomato Incident became the most definitive scholarly work on the matter. Upon moving to Hillwood he founded the Thurston County Historical Society and was instrumental in purchasing the building that would come to be it's headquarters: a former boarding house on Vine Street.

* * *

 **(Earlier that morning)**

" _Hello"_

" _Yo Patty. It's Gerald. I'm legally obliged to call and say that Arnold showed up at PS 118 unannounced and lingered around the halls."_

" _Arnold?"_

" _Normally I'd let this slide, but he just had a complete breakdown the minute he came in."_

" _Again…This is Arnold you're talking about. Arnold Philip Shortman?"_

" _Yes." Said Gerald frustratedly. "I don't know what happened but he just woke up and for whatever reason began acting like we were all in fourth grade again. Only worse; he's irate, scared, and really bugged out about Helga. If you still have any pull at the police department, please use as much of you as you can!"_

"Good morning Miss Berman."

Melchior's voice immediately snapped Patricia Berman out of her thoughts of her conversation earlier that day with Gerald.

"Oh, good morning Mr. von Sheck. I didn't expect to see you today."

"Eh, I won't be too long." He replied as he made his way to his office. "I just need to stash this portrait of Uncle Al away before heading off to the repast, such as it is."

"Ok." She replied. "Reminder that tomorrow, the kids from PS 118's History Day are taking a tour of the museum."

"Thanks."

As the door to Melchior's office closed, Patricia's mind returned to Gerald's call. As she replayed their conversation over and over, one phrase in particular kept reverberating around her psyche.

… _a complete breakdown…_

If anyone understood mental breakdowns, and how deeply it could mess with you, it was her.

 **(Flashback: Ten years Ago)**

 _It had literally been a week and an hour since Patricia Berman received her diploma from the County Police Academy when she had been called to report to the scene of an accident on the corner of 34_ _th_ _and Vine Streets._

 _Throughout training, Patty had been commended on her toughness, both physically and emotionally. But the scene that greeted the newly minted officer shattered her resolve; the front driver's side of the car had an ugly dent from the collision accented with blood and bits of entrails. Five miles from the accident, two other officers had just finished slapping the cuffs on the driver of said vehicle after his failed attempt to flee the scene of the crime on foot came to an end. But it was the shell-shocked preadolescent boy sitting in the shadow of the Jolly Olly truck that did it. He didn't even blink as the coroners across the street did their best to move the victim into the body bag and into the bus. The victim's equally catatonic wife held the child in her arms as he bawled madly._

 _The victim was identified as fifty-three-year-old Oscar Kokoshka. By all accounts, he and his 10-year-old nephew (also named Oskar) were headed off to the park when the little boy found himself desiring a treat from the Jolly Olly truck. As the two went to cross the street, a car rounded the corner of 34_ _th_ _and Vine at 40 mph and its driver was preoccupied with a phone call to see the red light above him. In the blink of an eye, the older Oskar pushed the kid back onto the sidewalk to save his nephew and in the process had no real time to save himself. The car crashed and pinned him to a mailbox killing him instantly._

 _To say that the incident haunted Patty was the understatement of the century; in the weeks since the collision, the image of Oscar's lifeless face and the sound of his sobbing nephew robbed her of night after night of sleep. During the day she suffered from extreme mood swings going from catatonic to explosive on a dime. Little things like her husband working late at the deli or the sound of the ice cream truck were guaranteed to set her off. On the flip side, there were days where she would wordlessly stare at the wall, the record of which was six hours straight. Half a year had passed since the incident and Patty's life as she knew it was on the line; Harold confided to friends that he was considering separation and she had lost her job after lashing out at a fellow officer for leaving a half-eaten jelly donut laying about. After a very direct but supportive intervention (spearheaded by none other than Arnold) she enrolled herself in a musical therapy program to help cope with the trauma and through that met up with three other guys who were trying to find their edge in the wake of a bandmate's murder. Upon discovering her talent as a bassist, they took Patty into their fold and since formed a local cover band they called the Asphalt Cowboys._

 _After taking some time off to raise their daughter, Patty ultimately returned to law enforcement in a roundabout way; As Arnold was in the process of selling Sunset Arms to the T.C.H.S., he put in a good word with the society's president that she was a perfect candidate for head of museum security; a sentiment Melchior wholeheartedly agreed with._

 **(End of Flashback)**

From the corner of her eye, Patricia she sees a flaxen haired man with an oblong shaped head bolting across the street in a fury. As he finally steps onto the sidewalk, all the joy and relief in his face curdles into rage as he sees the plaque on the front door. Before Patty can take any action Arnold barrels into the foyer of his former home as if on a mission.

"Arnold what a pleasant surprise."

"Patty, I got no time for this."

He makes an attempt to go upstairs but is blocked by Patty.

"Patty, I'm telling you nicely. Get. Out. Of. My-"

"Look, Gerald told me that you've had a bit of a rough day today." She continued. "But you've got to listen to me very, very carefully; I'm you're only friend here. I can get you out of this, but you're going to have to-"

"I don't want to get out of this, I want to go home." Arnold snapped. "I want to see my Grandma and Grandpa, I want to go back to school, I want this whole nightmare to come to a grinding, screeching, halt!"

Almost as if on cue, the office to Melchior's office opened and out he stepped. With less than a second to spare, Patty threw Arnold a copy of his grandfather's biography and so as to avoid any altercation with her boss.

"Arnold, what a pleasant surprise to see you." He says jovially.

Patty cursed internally as she turned her attention to the floor, and then the sky, wondering which would be the first to swallow her up and drag her away from the nightmare that was about to come.

"As you can see we've been keeping the house in great shape. I'm sure Phil and Gertrude would be proud, don't you think?" Melchior continued.

The fury that Arnold had been nursing all day reached its zenith. He was married to his tormentor whom for all he knew had hired people to pose as his parents, his school had no recollection of him as a student and now his home had been taken over by (of all people) a member of the von Sheck clan.

"You think you've won this haven't you?" He hissed.

"What do you mean?" Melchior laughed nervously as Arnold stepped closer.

"I saved the neighborhood from you once before, and you're out of your mind if you think I can't do it again."

Before Melchior could respond, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. As much as Uncle Al was distant to him, the genetic likeness between the two men bordered on uncanny.

"You're not going to get away with this! I'll see to it you join your uncle in prison."

Before Melchior could respond that Alphonse had died and was buried less than an hour ago, the

homicidally irate Arnold swung his fist towards the historian. With inches to go from receiving a black eye, Patty sprung into action and tackled Arnold to the ground.

* * *

"…where am I…"

Arnold came to feeling the ground moving beneath him. He was laid out in the backseat of the car with his right was hand tied to the headrest of the front passenger seat. Slowly, he craned his neck upwards to see the back of Patty's head from the driver's side.

"I told you to keep your cool." She said. "You didn't. Now I'm taking you home. Consider it a little dose of tough love."

"HOME?! I HAVE NO HOME!" Arnold roared. "That no good son of a jackal is living in my home. I should be there taking it-"

"Technically, you should be at the police station looking at attempted assault charges." Patty responded coldly. "Luckily, I managed to convince Melchior that work had been cutting into your sleep and that you've flipped because of it. So, before you invent a new level of stupid, I'm taking you back to your real home in Tacoma."

Unbeknownst to Patty, Arnold had managed to break free from his rope and open the door to her car. After leaping out and dusting himself off, he bolted back down the street towards the boarding house but lost his breath at the gates of the city cemetery. As he leaned on the iron gate, he saw a black tombstone with his family name on it.

"No…"

It didn't take all that long for Patty to find Arnold amidst the landscape of headstones in the city cemetery. He sobbed bitterly and clung weakly to the base of one particular tombstone that read as follows:

 **SHORTMAN**

 **Gertrude [Puckelwec]**

" **Pookie"**

 **(b. March 2** **nd** **, 1917 - d. November 24** **th** **, 2017)**

 **PFC Phillip Christopher**

" **Steely Phil"**

 **(b. October 25** **th** **, 1917 - d. February 11** **th** **, 2018)**

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" He whispered.

"Arnold?" She said gently. "Is everything alright?"

The physical tension in Arnold evaporated after five deep breaths. He collapsed into the sea of trimmed grass that made up the space between the headstones and gazed skyward. If Patty could describe her friend in one word it would be drained: his skin was clammy and pale like a bowl of leftover porridge. But it was his eyes that really spooked her. They too appeared glazed and lackluster, lacking in the optimism and warmth that she and many who knew him as a boy were familiar with.

"You ever have one of those days where…you're trapped in a nightmare you couldn't wake up from?" He sighed. "This whole day has to be a nightmare; an incredibly insane and elaborate one to boot…(Arnold pauses to look at his hand)…It's not enough that Helga somehow managed to rope me into a marriage _and_ fatherhood, I mean, me and Helga? That alone makes no possible sense! And…and that we somehow are on child number three together?! You'd think that would be enough to drive any sensible person out of their skull; ooooh but we're only getting started! Somehow she managed to pull of the ultimate in emotional low blows by bringing 'my parents' back from the San Lorenzo jungle! Now I hear Gerald is in charge of PS 118, Grandma and Grandpa are dead, and my home is overtaken by Scheck!"

He sighs.

"This is like that dream I had after Rhonda's stupid origami game; only worse."

Patty gave a knowing nod. She remembered hearing Rhonda mention something about their matrimonial mismatch as a sign that her paper toy wasn't as foolproof as all that. Yet she also recalled that Arnold's dream didn't end as badly as all that.

"But didn't that dream end…okay?" She asked.

"Huh?"

"I seem to recall you telling Gerald that your marriage to her wasn't all that bad and that while things were rocky at first, they turned out kinda…nice."

The migraine headache Arnold had experienced on and off once again returned once more upon mention of the sudden turn of his dream all those years ago. As usual he gripped his forehead as if to keep it from exploding, stinging tears pooled in the corner of his eyes and the random flicker of "dots" akin to television static was all his mind's eye could comprehend. This time however, Arnold he could see the fuzzy image of Helga pleading before him in a wedding dress. Just like in his dream, she admitted that he knew all this time there was more to her than the lazy, cold and uncaring front she'd exhibited all throughout their 'marriage'.

"…I may be rough around the edges, but, deep down, I'm a good person…"

* * *

From behind the mausoleum, Giarc surveyed Patty commiserating with a distraught Arnold by the Shortman grave. He looks into his bag and lets out a curse in his native tongue. His day hadn't gone all that well either: called spur of the moment along with his brother to Earth at K'ciuq's behest, the two of them had been given separate tasks, both of which involved the life of an earthling who in the grand scheme of things had no consequence. Yet shadowing this 'Arnold' was _oh so important_ to their mission of conquest. And now on top of that, in following Arnold around and trying to keep him delirious enough for the duration of their mission, Giarc was down to his last projectile; which was one of his own making unbeknownst to his superior.

Nonetheless, as Arnold clutched his head, the alien agent sprang into action; firing another beam from his umbrella gun directly into the young man's ear.

* * *

Just as instantaneously as Arnold's headache began, it ended. The look of excruciating agony subsided and, in its place, came a look of a lovesick epiphany.

"…but if I'm an adult…" he whispered. "Yes…yes that could work!"

Patty suddenly stirred.

"Tell me Patty, what ever happened to Lila Sawyer?"

Patty's eyes shifted between her hallucinating friend and the ground struggled over how to delicately answer his question. The response was simple; she was married, she worked in television and lived in Hillwood. But seeing the volatile emotional rollercoaster that was Arnold Shortman, a man who had helped her get through a very low point in her life via a pretty heavy but loving reality check, she let the words that danced on her tongue retreat and gestured for him to go back into her car.

"Arnold…It's best that I show you…"


	8. With a Beautiful Wife

"…making today's midday winning numbers 1,1,7, and 7. Thanks ever so much for playing Washington Lottery and enjoy your afternoon!"

Lila Sawyer, or 'Lila the Lottery Lady' as all of Washington knew her had been gracing television screens across the state for about four years now. Yet every now and then, there were moments where her job and how quickly she made a name for herself in it felt way too surreal. As she looked down at the two photographs she kept framed near the dressing room mirror, a tear began to coast along her cheek. As she sobbed silently, the door to the dressing room opened and in stepped anchorwoman Danica Koch.

"Oh, Miss Sawyer. I didn't know you were in here."

"That's alright." She said wiping away the tears from her eyes. "I was almost done anyway."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I am." She said after blowing her nose. "It's just…sometimes I miss my mom, and wish that I could see her and tell her that everything worked out for us in the end."

"Really?" Danica sympathetically.

"She died back when we lived in Pleasantville. Dad and I moved here shortly afterwards and were poor for a long time." She continued. "You always hear of the American dream, but it always feels like that; a dream. You wake up in the same shack of an apartment wondering where your next meal will come from. And now…now you're one of the most famous faces in the state. And you get to go home to a beautiful and loving wife. It just gets so overwhelming sometimes is all."

"Well, that's a very powerful story Lila." Danica said. "I'm sure if your mother was here, she'd say how proud she is of you and the life you have managed to make for yourself."

"Thanks Danica." The redhead sighs as she gives Danica a hug before heading home.

As she stepped out from the revolving door and onto the spacious quad, Lila felt her phone buzz violently in the pocket of her blazer. Her eyes widen with confusion and shock as she reads the message on her screen from her sister in law. Bolting the rest of the way to her car, she shoots a quick text to Olga before peeling onto the highway like a bat out of hell.

 **(Across town)**

"…your son has tremendous talent Tucker. I think it's even fair to say he's one of my best students."

"Shouldn't surprise me." he remarked as he looked down at his son while Olga handed her student a manila folder of papers marked 'practice'. "Grant has been glued to that piano before he could learn to walk."

"Well then, I'm sure that the supplementary folder of Stravinsky I gave him should be no trouble at all."

"Not a bit. See you next week Miss Olga."

As Olga watched the Wittenberg men bound down the steps of her house, she let out a relieved sigh knowing that her piano tutorials were done for the day and that she could start preparing dinner. Upon thumbing through the fridge and finding a great deal of leftover meats, the Pataki woman decided to make a leftover goulash. While the ambrosial medley of meats, vegetables and spices perfumed the house, Olga takes advantage of the lull in her day to tidy up the already orderly domicile. She stares at the wall, dotted with posters of famous pianists, a couple of kitschy but cute motivational posters about music, and mementos of thanks from various students or their parents. But dwarfing them all in the spot where her dad's big-screen tv once sat was a modest but commanding portrait of Olga and her wife Lila as newlyweds on the steps of their home that they had come to call their own.

All her life, the eldest daughter of Bob and Miriam Pataki had strived for perfection. The room where she now gave her piano lessons was at one point, a shrine to every trophy, plaque, and medal she had been awarded since elementary school. Underneath it all was a bad case of perfectionism that manifested itself in a perky and oblivious exterior, especially when it came to her younger sister's wellbeing. As her father's company sunk further and further into irrelevance and bankruptcy, reality began to hit Olga like a speeding truck that the life she and everyone expected her to have wasn't going to happen anymore. In the end, she took a job in England for five years keeping in touch with nobody from Hillwood save for Helga, Arnold, and a certain young lady whom she played big sister to once upon a time.

The later member of her triad of state-side friends began to bring about a great deal of feelings in Olga. Feelings that blossomed into something much deeper as the two of them reached adulthood. In Lila, Olga found a kindred spirit; someone who also had a lot on her plate in terms of coming off as Miss Perfect in the face of adversity. While on a picnic in the park, in the wake of Helga's pregnancy announcement, both women admitted their feelings and married three years later.

" _This is my house again_." She thinks to herself. " _Thank you for sharing it with me through better or worse_."

The dweebling chimes of her phone bring Olga back to reality. After a gasp, she checks her messages. Her eyes widen as she scrolls through the avalanche of notifications that swamped her direct messenger, a good chunk of which came from Helga, Miles and Stella, at various points in the day.

 **10:30am Olga, I need to talk to you ASAP.**

 **11:02am Olga, if you see Arnold around give the ! a swift kick where the sun don't shine.**

 **11:04am Olga, it's Miles, if you and Lila can reach us, do so. Helga's had a day and needs her sister.**

 **11:21am ! OLGA PICK UP!**

 **11:32am Olga, seriously. Why aren't you picking up? I'm pregnant and Arnold went all Berzerk on me. Please call me if he shows up. I won't hurt him, I just want answers.**

 **11:53am Olga Honey it's Stella, we just called left a message for Lila but she's on the road right now.**

 **2:15 Sweetheart, I know it's piano tutoring day. Call me when you get finished with classes. Helga just messaged me and needs us. On my way home. XO.**

Olga frantically sends a text to her wife acknowledging reception of the message, then one to her sister that she will be on her way as soon as Lila comes back from work and that she'll be bringing a pot of goulash (to which Helga thanked her politely while rolling her eyes to Stella and Miles back at home). No sooner had the last of the meal been poured away into its final quart container that the front door opened.

"Honey I'm home." Lila called from the foyer.

"Oh, good." She responded. "I'm glad you got back as quickly as you did. I just got poor Helga's message."

"I just got to change from these clothes and then…is that goulash I smell? It's ever so nice."

"Well, it was supposed to be our dinner tonight, but given the turn of events…I just don't understand what went off in Arnold's head."

"Nor I." The redhead girl called as she slipped into a long sleeve t shirt and dungarees. "He was always such a cinnamon bun of a guy. And over having another kid? This is not him at all!"

"Yeah." Olga said quietly to herself. "Over having a kid. Another son or daughter."

Within minutes, the two women were on their way out to Helga's with plenty of goulash in tow. But as Olga stood on the stoop, Lila stopped a minute and turned around.

"I know Arnold and Helga have this spat," she began. "But I could feel something at work after I did the numbers, and now seeing you…in the doorway…"

Before Olga could respond, Lila leaned forward and kissed her wife. Their lips parted slowly as the Pataki woman's face went from inquisition to shock to an understanding smile as to the hesitation. With the goulash on Lila's lap, Olga started up her pink Volkswagen and began their voyage to the Shortman house. As the car rounds the block, the Sawyer woman gives a subtle glance to a nondescript brown sedan that had been parked across the street from their house before deleting a text.

* * *

"I'm sorry Arnold." Said Patty emotionlessly. "You wouldn't have believed me if I told you."

But rather than say a word, Arnold collapses across the backseat of his friend's car and shakes his head soundlessly. As much as his head screamed and shook over this revelation, his frame was beyond drained from everything he had endured. This was it. This was the absolute bottom. This was the last big surprise left in the grab-bag of suck that was today. There was no gesture too grand, no display he could concoct that could woo Lila into his arms. And what's more, of _**all the possible people**_ she could have married, she chose the sister of the tormenter that now masqueraded as his wife.

"Are you okay?" Patty asked as she gently nudged his shoulder.

"I need a drink." The football headed man weakly croaked.


	9. This Looks Like a Job for Alcohol!

**AN: * "Denotes Thoraxian"***

The headaches had become routine for Arnold at this point. His entire skull buzzed and throbbed like an alarm clock and his brain felt like someone sliced it open with a white-hot knife. All the young man could do is seethe and wince every now and then as fuzzy images from his childhood faintly imprint themselves amidst the static-y backdrop that consumed his mind's eye. _This_ particular headache began after Patty's car pulled into the lot of an immense building that architecturally resembled a quarter of a donut. He remembered it from before, but where?

As he clutches the bridge of his nose, He sees a billboard that once occupied the roof of the building (as he remembered it, not as it stood currently). The man's eyes burned with ambition beneath a furrowed brow. His mouth curled into a toothy slasher smile that bared a set of gleaming chompers to all he 'welcomed' beneath him. With a crown atop his head and a collar over his shoulders, his left and right hands clutched a communication device which had long since been rendered irrelevant (both also sporting crowns). The faint echo of a jingle played in the background of his memory.

" _It's Big Bob's Beepers: He's the king. It's Big Bob's Beepers: Ding. Ding. Ding_."

As quickly as the Big Bob's Beeper's logo appeared to Arnold, it transformed back into the logo for the pub that occupied the space now; The Jury Room, a sports pub/restaurant that boasted live music and the best wings in town. With a scream, he stops a minute before the doors and collapses under the weight of his buckling knees.

"Arnold-"

"Isn't this where…" He began. "Isn't there another bar? Please…tell…me…there's…another…"

Before Patty could answer, a large windowless van slowly pulled into the driveway and men pulled up to the front doors of the Jury Room. Once the beige behemoth was parked, three men popped out and began to grab their instruments.

"Patty, we've been lookin' all over for you." Said one of the two identical looking members of the trio. "I know you know the set list like the back of your hand but still; practice is practice"

"Sorry Les." She replied. "I've just had a bit of a day. Arnold, these are my friends Les Gibson, his brother Paul, and Matthias Fender."

"Oh yeah, Patty's told us a lot about you." Matthias replied.

"Arnold kinda has had a rough day as well." Patty continued. "I figured that I could kill two birds with one stone between brining him here for a drink to take the edge off and meeting you here before our gig tonight."

"Fair," said Les. "But he's paying his own tab."

 **(Inside)**

As Patty and the rest of the Asphalt Cowboys began set up and mic check for their performance later that night, Arnold stared unresponsively at some sports talk show that was playing on the overhead television. The bar area was empty save for him and another older man slumped over the counter fiddling with his empty pint glass.

"Excuse me…Sir, excuse me…"

The tap on Arnold's shoulder caused him to shudder. Before him stood a man ten years his senior wearing a black T-shirt with an insignia of the establishment over his right pectoral. He pulled the pen from behind his right ear and put the edge of it over a waiter's pad.

"Welcome to the Jury Room. what'll it be?"

"What's your most potent beverage?"

"My guess, a Long Island iced tea or a Mind Eraser"

"Great, after the day I had I'd take ten of each!" He said with a facetious chuckle

"Woah there, buddy." The bartender replied playing off his quip. "Let's get you an eraser."

As the bartender shovels some ice into a highball glass, Arnold give another quick glance and clears his throat.

"I…I can't help but ask, didn't this place used to be Big Bob's Beeper's? I remember as a kid you know-"

"Beepers?!" The barfly three seats over laughed viciously. "Ohherewegoagain…another one of you self-righteous, know-it-all, candy-ass 90's kids who thinks he deserves a trophy for breathing today! When are you and the rest of your generation gonna _really_ grow up?!"

"Dude, calm down." The bartender began as he put the vodka back on the bottom shelf. "He probably just-"

"Your precious 90's wasn't all 'Hammer-pants' and 'Surge' there, champ." The man continued as he stumbled about and shot Arnold a nasty look. "IT HAD COLUMBINE! IT HAD SREBRENICA AND JEFFERY DAHMER! But hey, ketchup was purple! One giant leap for mankind, right?!"

As the man continued to blather, another busboy escorted him outside and while the bartender called a cab. Once the phone was hung up, he returned to making Arnold's drink.

"I'm really sorry about him, man. Poor guy's job had a round of layoffs recently and when it came down to him and the employee thirty-five years younger…but yeah, you're right; this used to be Big Bob's Beepers back in the day."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

"What do you think? It closed down." The bartender said as he put the finishing touches on Arnold's drink. "Better technology became available to the masses, but this damned fool kept living in the delusion that it was still 1994 and everyone was going to still mob the place for his goods. (tsk). The biggest shame in all of this was that in the end, he dragged his family into squatting here in the store after losing the house. They wouldn't have found them if he didn't blow his stack over the one daughter leaving them for a better job."

Arnold's headache worsened as he remembered how by middle school, Bob Pataki's business had fallen into a state of ruin. The sight of the weathered edifice, the absurdly cheap prices on his stock and the sight of the once mighty Beeper king himself getting the mail in a purple bath robe. But it's the memory of an evening stroll one spring night that seems to form in his mind's eye.

* * *

 _The French have an interesting word: Chienlit. Spell it one way and it translates to "chaos" or "masquerade", spell it another way (chie-en-lit) and you get a scatological pun. Standing across the street from the yellow police tape that separated the Big Bob's Beepers property from the rest of the city, I couldn't help but meditate on both definitions._

 _The scene before me is eerily quiet, as if an atomic bomb had just been detonated and I alone had survived. Yet as a gust of wind passes through, I can hear the cacophony that gripped the scene almost thirty hours ago: gasps, shouts, the wailing of sirens, the flash of cameras, chatter over police radios, and the sea of reporters each giving the nation their two cents on what had come to be called 'the fall of the beeper empire'._

 _Under the glare of the national press and amidst a riotous sea of heckling onlookers, the Pataki patriarch was a far cry from the formidable blowhard that tried to buy me off from the city spelling bee or thundered at Grandpa over a fender bender. As he is lead into a nearby police cruiser, he watches with a face still screwed up in fury but a posture resigned to arrest as the what remains of the pretense he built as a winner and family man is put out of its misery._

" _Arnold."_

 _I look up to see Gerald and Phoebe biking over to the scene from around the block. They join me sitting at the curb and look on at the dilapidated storefront. For a long time, we said nothing. But I had to ask._

" _Have you heard from her."_

 _Reflexively, Phoebe shot me a look. I don't blame her, as Helga's only real friend everyone in our social circle had come to regard her as a goldmine of information regarding her whereabouts after what happened. She softens as Gerald puts a hand on her shoulder and_ _with a sigh, she responds._

" _Home school for the entirety of seventh grade. She wants this whole thing to blow over as much as possible before coming back to a classroom environment. I appreciate that not getting around."_

 _Gerald and I nod sadly but understandably. Helga worked so hard to hide how far her family had fallen in the name of the old man's stubbornness and pride. And on national television, the dumpster fire that was the Pataki's exploded with a vengeance._

" _And where is she now?"_

" _As far away as possible. According to her, Dr. Bliss is fighting like mad for custody. The rest of her blood family is all distant relatives scattered around Budapest. And even Olga admitted such an arrangement would be better for Helga considering how they didn't have the best relationship growing up."_

" _Yeah…" I sigh looking up at the overpass._

 _As the cop ushers us away, I catch from the corner of my eye a flier in the window bearing the words 'Beepers 75% off 3: Our Loss is Your Gain!' As I watch it fade with each step away from the storefront, it occurs to me just how much Bob had truly soiled the sheets in terms of raising his daughters. For all the huffing and puffing about wanting a son, he lorded an idealized Olga over his younger girl. What's more, Helga found herself chided (to say the least) by her male parental unit for aping the toxic and twisted manliness he embodied, or his less than desirable traits._

 _Yes, she clearly wasn't a planned-for child._

 _Yes, the pregnancy was rough on Miriam this time around._

 _Yes, she was colicky, sickly at times, and far from photogenic to put in any ads for the old man's store._

 _No, she wasn't going to carry on the proud Pataki surname, or be a carbon copy of her older sister._

 _But the years of neglect and dysfunction that occurred under both their real home and the "home" they made in the beeper store were inexcusable. And from that pain came talent and beauty he could never begin to appreciate or understand._

 _"'Our loss is your gain.'" I whisper to the cool twilight air._ " _Yeah Bob, it is. Isn't it?"_

* * *

"Um…sir? Excuse me, sir, your drink is ready." The bartender says nudging his shoulder.

Arnold grunts surprisingly as he's greeted to the sight of a pint glass filled with a deliciously brown elixir. A small grin of relief breaks over him as he uncradles his head and goes to reach for the glass.

 **(Outside the bar)**

*"Nice to hear you're finally pulling your weight on this mission, Gnalmij."*

Hunched on the other side of the wooden fence that separated The Jury Room from the rest of the city, Giarc furiously responds to his brother's message that his part of the mission had finally begun to get underway. Holding the device to his ear, he listens as the other end explains his silence.

*"Yeah well, count your blessings alright? Babysitting him all day hasn't exactly been R&R…no, I'm not joking; everything seems to set this guy off, he's like some little snowflake. No dipnoid! It's a colloquial Earth term for…(groans)…forget it. Just…just tell me when you're half of the mission is complete!"*

Once the spaceman's transmission comes to an end, he looks up to see Arnold sitting at the bar receiving his drink. Giarc's eye begins to twitch violently as he bolts toward the entranceway. The rising tide of fury that had only swelled since he had been summoned to Earth had finally caused his head to explode. Now more than ever, he had to act; whether his commander gave the blessing to do so.

*"I should have done this the minute I got here!"*

 **(Back inside)**

"So you're Arnold Shortman."

The bartender handed Arnold back his credit card as the young man nodded.

"You know it's funny." He said. "When I bought this place, the younger daughter seemed to take a shine to an Arnold Shortman. She had an interesting name to, Hilda, Henrietta, I don't know something you'd expect a grandmother to have."

"Helga Pataki…" Arnold began weakly.

As if in a trance, Arnold emotionlessly rose himself from the bar and began to shuffle to the exit.

Floating in the frigid and infinite void that greeted Arnold as he stood in the threshold was

the crying image of a nine-year-old Helga Pataki wearing a bridal dress. He remembered this dream: it was right after Rhonda's stupid prediction. She had tricked him into taking her, held him hostage in her childhood home, tied him down with three unruly goblins for children and relished in every moment of his misery. And yet, in those final minutes before the alarm clock called him from the deepest recesses of his slumber, there was a moment of vulnerability that he knew existed all along.

The child-bride Helga looks up at her husband. Still levitating, she steps towards him with her hands outstretched. As she wraps her hands around his, the headache that Arnold experiences as her hand envelopes his could shatter his skull, yet try as he might he can't release himself from Helga's grasp. Upon being pulled out of The Jury Room and in the vacuum that should have been the parking lot, Arnold and Helga begin to plummet downwards into the lightless expanse;

the vacuum is filled with the sounds of shattering glass and bells falling to the earth as they descend.

Arnold looks down to see a heart shaped locket slowly coming into view. Closer and closer it seems to get until they splash down. As he treads amidst the swirling liquid within, he feels Helga dissolve as if she were made of sugar. Her fading from his view is equal to that of the solution illuminating about him. Once she's fully vanished, an excruciating wave of pain squeezes Arnold and all the memories begin to dance about him:

 _Arnold my love, my sultry pre-teen…_

" _I've always loved you, ever since I first laid eyes on your stupid football head! And from that moment and every moment since, I've lived and breathed for you, dreamed of the moment I could finally tell you my secret feelings and could grab you and kiss you and—! Oh, come here, you big lug_!"

 _Why must I hold you only whilst I dream…_

" _But the funny thing is, in a weird way, the nightmare kinda turned out to be OK." … "You're kidding, right?"... "No, seriously! I mean, I know it's crazy, but... in the end of the dream, she actually turned out to be kinda nice..."_

 _Will I be forever enslaved by your spell? Why must I worship you and never ever tell…_

" _Who else do you think has been stalking you night and day, building shrines to you in a closet, filling volumes of books with poems about you? I love you Arnold!"_

 _You make my girlhood tremble, my senses all go whacky…_

" _Anyway, it's done. We're going to San Lorenzo."…"Wow! Thank you, Helga."… [I put my hand on Helga's shoulder, causing her to get a buzzing sensation and hear fireworks.] "Oh-ho! And I... have to go wash my socks!"_

 _Someday I'll tell the world my love…_

" _Listen, I know you tried to tell me before, and I wasn't ready to hear it. But now, this whole thing: the trip to San Lorenzo, getting away from Lasombra, finding my parents... it's all 'cause of you. Your locket..." "Locket? What locket?" [The locket falls out of the wheel.] "…Your locket, it woke up my parents! You did it all, just to help me. And... and..." [I hold Helga's hand and kiss her. Her foot lifts up into the air]._

 _Or my name is not…_

" _Helga G. Pataki. Will you be my wife?..." [ The look on her face went from confused to joyous as I opened the box. She did the typical 'hand to mouth' thing all girls seem to do upon seeing the_ _three-heart Pink Fire Opal ring inlaid with Blue Fire Opal gems. Suddenly, my invitation to the front door of the_ _Urban Tots daycare center makes sense, especially given today's forecast]. "Arnold…" [She doesn't have to say anything more. The ring is plucked from its container and slid upon her ring finger. And amidst the falling rain, I am spun around and kissed as if it was FTi all over again]._

All of a sudden, the memories begin to collapse upon themselves; graduation, their adventure in San Lorenzo, the birth of their twins, the April Fools dance, buying the new house, the Freshman semi-formal, saving the neighborhood and so forth. The light faded back into darkness and the sensation of suspension ceased.

Before Arnold knew it, he was blindfolded and back in reality.

"Mom…Dad…"

A sinister hissing cackle is the answer to his question.

"Cecil…Eleanor…"

The ominous giggle only intensifies as the blindfold is removed. It dawns on Arnold instantly that whoever has kidnapped him is holding him in the secret tunnels beneath Hillwood.

"Where am I…and where is my wife and family?"

 **(AN: Think of Arnold as if he's inside a cup of Ovaltine being stirred around, as Helga disappears, she unlocks all the memories the RDC erased. Also, special shout out to the authors Puella Pulchra and Starry nights, whose respective fics " _Back to Preschool_ " and " _I have a heart but it's buried_ " helped a lot). **


	10. A Quest Forged in IRE

**(Hey, you know who we _haven't_ checked on in a while? Helga and the kids!) **

_Morris Walker should have known when to shut up._

 _Everyone of God's green earth knew that Cecil's baseball skills sucked, but the Walker kid took it to the next level: despite weighing as much as a killer whale, he had the nerve to be the loudest voice in reminding Cecil how bad he truly was at baseball. The crown jewel of which was the nickname "Stratosphere". Down by one point with two strikes and bases loaded, the fate of the game rested in his hands._

" _Strike 2 Stratosphere, you might as well just quit now."_

 _It was only a PE game of baseball. Yeah there were winners and losers but the level of rancor Morris kept spewing at Cecil was uncalled for. Even Morris' own team was begging him to cut the heckling. From the dugout his teammates could see lines of steam rising from Cecil's shaking frame. As Morris hurls another ball towards home plate, Cecil summons all his strength and rage into his swing._

 _In the end, it still wasn't enough._

" _Strike three. Another game, another out. You're just too predictable Cecil (he laughs). I don't even know why I bother pitching. I could throw a bowling ball and you'd still miss. Wasn't this you're dad's sport too? Oh man, if he could see you now…"_

 _What happened next sent shock waves throughout the school._

 _Cecil, who many knew as a kid slow to anger, suddenly bolted and after picking up the bat charged at Morris with all the speed and fury of a provoked hornet. Still running towards his tubby tormentor, he raised the bat and cracked it across the kid's jaw sending him tumbling over. Seething remorselessly, he tossed the bat across the gym and asked what they thought of his grand slam._

Unlike others before him who've had their recess privileges suspended and sent to the Indoor Recess Environment, Cecil had an advantage; his sister Eleanor had a strong rapport with a boy in her art class named Thomas who bonded with her over the mutual interest of creating fan art. Through him, she became an honorary member of Daniel J. Evan's Middle School's Chapter of the Pale Kids, a nerdy foursome of boys that spent their recesses indoors. With nowhere else to go, they commandeered a table in the I.R.E. room and kept to themselves, away from the rest of the reprobate children.

Much to his surprise, Cecil came to bond with the Pale Kids in his own right; discussing Anthropology with Daniel and debating the merits/drawbacks of superheroes with John-Paul. But the one activity that put a smile on the Shortman boy's face was a little role-playing fantasy game called Hydras and Hostelries.

Before Cecil knew it, his two month stint in Indoor Recess Environment had drawn to a close. The gang decided to make a thing of his last day. After school, he and Eleanor were to wait back for a final game of H&H at Casa Shortman. The two sat/reclined on a playground bench in anticipation for the arrival of their friends.

"What you working on today?" Asked Cecil staring up at the sky.

"Monkeyman." She replied looking up from her sketch pad. "From mom's book. Or, at least how I imagine him."

Cecil looked at his sister's sketching. Like Helga to writing, Eleanor had buckets of talent when it came to visual works. And her Monkeyman sketch was no exception: perched atop a balcony, he sees below him a city, where violence and strife prowl along its walls and oppression and fraud dwell within the market place. Monkeyman's face is that of betrayal; it was not an enemy who brings this malice upon the city he loves, or some alien foe that he could hide from but instead his fellow humans with whom the world expected him to seek fellowship with.

"Wow." Cecil replied. "This has the Junior High Art Show written all over it."

"Yeah," she said sadly. "I guess it does, doesn't it?"

Eleanor sighs as she puts down her pad.

"Somedays I feel like… I have talent and I want to go places with it, but… there's always this sinking feeling that I'll always be 'Helga's Daughter'; and not 'Eleanor Shortman' you know? I want my talent to be seen and judged on its own merits."

"And it hasn't been just art." She continued. "We have a Great Grandpa who inadvertently won World War II in Europe, Grandparents who rescued civilizations in Central America…and mom and dad…I think of all the stories and adventures mom and dad had as kids and, well I get jealous."

"I know what you mean El." Cecil sighed. "Sometimes out on that diamond, I feel a lot of pressure seeing as how dad was 'dangerous lumber' when it came to baseball. But I just keep in mind that mom and dad aren't the type to lord their adventures over us. We are their children, and whatever we do with our lives, as boring as it may be, they'll love and support us all the way."

From the corner of his eye, Cecil sees the Pale Kids making their way out of the school. He chuckles at their eclectic head wear as he salutes them.

"Gondor Primulon, Samoht."

"Gondor Primulon. Licec and Ronaele." Thomas replied. "P.J., Mixam, and Leinad were just finishing the nature of our quest."

J.P. produces a 'scroll' detailing the quest. The faces of the Shortman children fall into apprehension as they absorb the contents:

 _ **In his travels, the intrepid Squire Leinad came upon a weapon near the Fortress of Quarantine.**_ _ **It has the stock of a heavy crossbow, but the similarities end there. Someone has replaced the main body with a long metal tube, flared at the end. There's a lever in the body, but no slot for an arrow. It smells of black powder and reminds you of a miniature cannon. Unlike many of its ilk, this cannon fired an explosive discharge of emerald light and left scorching devastation in its wake.**_

 _ **This correlates with accounts from Samoht the Stargazer who saw a similar beam from across town as well as those from Licec the Outlander and Ronaele the Fair who spoke of sleeplessness the previous night from the same discharge.**_

 _ **Upon consultation with P.J. the Tavernmaester and Mixam the Knight, our quest is to find the source of this weaponry.**_

Before either could respond, Eleanor receives a text from her mother requesting both the Shortman children's presences at home.

"Yikes," Eleanor said. "Guys, something just came up at home and it seems pretty serious. So-"

"I understand perfectly M'lady." Thomas says giving a crisp bow to the two of them. "You and Licec take to the wind. Godspeed."

The children made it home in record time and were greeted by an unusual sight. Godmother Phoebe answering the door and hastily rushing them into the house. As they entered the kitchen, Cecil and Eleanor were greeted by the sight of their mother still distraught and crumpled from this morning. Flanking Helga were Grandma and Grandpa Shortman to the left while Aunt Olga fussed about in a manic state and Aunt Lila handed her another glass of water. To top the whole tableau off Cecil noticed the last dregs of tears streaming across their mom's face.

"Helga." Lila said. "The children are home."

"Mom."

"What happened?"

Once Helga quietly thanked her sister-in-law, she took a heavy sip of water and embraced her children.

"Children…it's about your father."


	11. The Fortress of Quarantine

Eleanor and Cecil Shortman weren't the kind of kids who skipped homework as it was. True, they would moan upon the mention of the word (as any normal kid was wont to do) but when all was said and done, their teacher Mrs. Sylvestri could count on receiving their work first thing in the morning just as humanity could count on the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

In the silence that seized the Shortman household after hearing about their father's meltdown and mother's pregnancy, both children had finished their homework for the night, and then some: they breezed through _The Indian and the Cupboard_ which wasn't a difficult read to begin with and finished the accompanying packet of questions that was supposed to last them the month, their multiplication packet for the week was also completed, and they even managed to get through the next two weeks' worth of work for their science and social studies units. Just as they were debating whether to even make a try for the extra credit assignment that came with their kid's edition of _Time_ , Eleanor's phone began to hum.

 **Samoht:** Ronaele, where did you and Licec vanish to? We still have a quest.

 **Ronaele:** Things got a bit too real here, but time has passed; we shall ask again.

"Ooh, an alien emoji." Cecil began sing-songily as he peered over her shoulder. "Looks like it's getting serous between you guys."

"Cork it champ!" The girl replied giving her brother a playful but firm punch in the arm. "We all can't spend our existence glued to Auntie Olga's thighs, can we?"

 **Ronaele** : Ring the doorbell when you get here, we'll be down in a second.

No sooner had the message been marked as received that chimes filled the Shortman house. True to their word, Cecil and Eleanor packed away their books and bounded down the steps of the house and came to the sight of Phoebe answering the door. Stepping past the outer side of the threshold stood Thomas and a strange boy to his right.

"Gondor Primulon Samoht."

"Gondor Primulon Shortman underlings." The geeky guest replied. "And…guest?"

"Oh, that's Aunt Phoebe." Said Cecil. "She's a linguist at Puget Sound."

"Gondor Primulon Ebeohp the Decipherer." Thomas said politely before turning his attention to the Shortman kids. "It is imperative you both come for two reasons. For starters, Mixam learned that his elder passed to the realm of shadows. P.J. and Leinad took him to the comic shop in an attempt to relieve some of his sorrows. And furthermore, my paths have been crossed with James who claims to have beheld this light from the fortress itself and can clue you in on its secrets and power. The catch is that he is articulate in the speech of hands, hence his H&H name Semaj the Silent."

"ASL." Cecil said. "I know it pretty well. Let's ask mom.

The scene downstairs had calmed down a great deal since their arrival; Aunt Olga and Aunt Lila had left a while ago, Gerald was batting dish duty while Helga listlessly finished off what remained of the goulash.

"Mom. Can we go out now?" Eleanor asked. "We finished our homework for the night."

"…and the next few weeks." Cecil muttered to himself.

Helga looked over at her kids and chuckled at her son's aside comment. With a ruffle of their hair she told them to go play but to be back by six. Leaping for joy, the four children bounded out the door leaving their backpacks behind in a jumble by the couch.

It took Cecil, Eleanor, and Thomas and the stranger ten minutes to reach the collection of dilapidated edifices that was the Overbrook Asylum Complex. The expanse was like a small town consisting of a subway, a morgue, a kitchen/dining hall, a power plant, a greenhouse and some a couple of small houses for some of the nurses. Their traveling companion (whom along the way identified himself as Semaj the Silent) lead them to the asylum proper where he claimed to see the light in all its glory.

Over the years, the Overbrook complex had its share of trespassers and loiterers that had both taken more than pictures and left more than footsteps. This reality greeted the intrepid foursome of preadolescents as they pushed open the door and shone their flashlights around the decaying interior: wall after wall was marred with edgy poetry and testimonies of carnal conquests. Shards of glass from beer bottles and smashed up windows paired nicely with the remnants of cigarettes in various states of use. Vegetation had begun to grow in the few places where the sunlight dared to shine, and adding to the mess were the day-to-day objects from tables and dishes to mattresses and patient records which previous intruders had left strewn about to clog the hallways. A startled rat emitted an unworldly screech before scurrying away, much to the fright of Cecil.

As the children wandered the halls for what felt like forever, Semaj the Silent gestured towards a splintered wooden door. Cecil shone his light on a metal plaque marred by patches of rust. Upon opening it, Cecil, Eleanor, Thomas and James fixed their torches upon a neglected set of cement steps leading into a cavernous expanse.

"Ladies first." Thomas said with jitters.

"Naturally." She replied without a note of fear.

The last pair of feet had descended the steps and the four children took note of their surroundings as best they could. The space had been untouched when compared to the rest of the building, no beer cans or wangsty musings to meet their eye. Instead, an ominous chill kept them company as they wondered to themselves what this room was for.

"What is this place?" Eleanor gasped.

"One would assume that it appears to be a subterranean shelter of some kind." Thomas began. "But yet it seems to go on forever…ECHO!"

Thomas' voice reverberated for a second before fading away.

"Yes. This would clearly be more than ample space for the inmates and their caretakers." Cecil concluded. "But the real question is where this cavern takes us to."

Their question was answered by the sight of an oxidized sign bearing the word Hillwood and an arrow pointing the way to the metropolis of their parents' childhood days.

"A network of secret tunnels that honeycomb the entire block and possibly lead to the rest of the neighborhood."

As all six sets of eyes turned to the strange boy. Before either of them could speak James held up a long piece of string which he had tied to the doorknob before his descent, unbeknownst to his fellow travelers. Suddenly their lights began to flicker and give out leaving the open door as their only source of luminosity.

"Simaj?" Thomas squeaked.

Instead the strange boy's lips curled into an evil grin. And for the Shortman children and their friend, it would be the last sight they'd see as James pulled the string which slowly shut the door and left them in utter darkness.


	12. The Journal

Peace had finally come to the house that stood at 102 Van Dyke Court. Sensing that Helga had seemed to regain some level of emotional balance from earlier that morning, Phoebe and Gerald finally felt it appropriate to head back to their respective homes. Just as Gerald's hands grasped the door to his ride, a muffled screech filled the waning afternoon air.

"Oh no."

"What now?"

Bursting open the door, the two of them came upon the sight of a petrified Helga Pataki holding her phone out as if it had spontaneously started to exude some venomous sludge. Speech failed the woman and her body began to shake violently as she held up the device's screen to her friends. Phoebe almost fainted while Gerald's jaw hit the floor as he attempted to break her fall.

Sitting beneath the rusted out 'Hillwood' sign were the bound and gagged trio of Cecil, Eleanor and Thomas. Their helpless eyes stared back into the camera with fright. Under the image was the following text: 'Find book of blue in back pack and I return kids.'

"It literally came in just as you shut the door…"

"Oh my goodness, Helga. You must call the police."

"I…this has to be a prank. I…it just has to…" She continued frantically.

Gerald made a bee line to the huddle of backpacks that sat unmolested since the children departed the house almost an hour ago. Something in his gut told him to start with the unfamiliar bag adorned with an image of the Milky Way as opposed to those he knew belonged to Cecil and Eleanor or the bag monogrammed with the name "Thomas C. Rodriguez." Sure enough, the first object he pulled out a Navy colored journal. Turning to a random page, Gerald's brow furrowed in confusion and his lips moved up and down as he attempted to decipher the contents on the page: other than a triangle akin to a Greek "Delta" and an upside-down tri-barred Byzantine cross, he could fathom no frame of reference for whatever alphabet this was. Further weirding him out is the insignia boldly stamped upon the cover: a sixteen-pointed star with two lightning bolt lines in the center circle. More words in the text could be seen in the four central rays.

The first thing Phoebe notices about her new fiancé upon his return to the kitchen is the quizzical look he sports while staring at the book. As soon as she asks what has his mind in a knot, Gerald gave her the book and asked what she made of it.

"I'm sorry Gerald." Helga snapped. "We're looking for _answers_ , not the ledger of the Zodiac Killer Appreciation Society."

"Yeah, but Helga…" Gerald began as he tapped on the cover. The blonde-haired girl also notices the logo courtesy of his finger.

"Alright hair boy, it's the blue book." She replied snarkily. "But where do we return it to? _Who_ do we even return it to? Do we call Area 51 to set up a rendezvous, or will Spock and Marvin the Martian beam in here any minute to discuss the terms of surrender?"

As her best friend and fiancé revert to their childhood state of antagonism, a brief but harrowing sense of déjà vu cloaks Phoebe as she too sees the image on the book's front cover. She knew for a fact she'd seen it before: a colleague of hers once had it on a poster. But which one? Before she could wrack her brain any further, Phoebe's train of thought derailed as the book was curtly tossed in her direction followed by Helga's voice.

"Well Pheebs, you're the hotshot linguist, get cracking."

But try as Phoebe might, making heads or tails of what had been laid before her was impossible. Some illustrations of assorted landmarks around Hillwood were scattered here and there which helped a great deal, but when all was said and done whatever alphabet (such as it was) this had been composed in appeared to defy every linguistic rule she had studied. The sound of Helga and Gerald arguing combined with the faint hints of seeing this somewhere that taunted her further hindered Phoebe in her attempts to decipher the journal. After ten minutes that felt like ten hours, she furiously tossed the journal aside and roared:

"GOD HIMSELF COULDN'T SPEAK THIS NONSENSE!"

In the ensuing pall of silence, it suddenly hit Phoebe like a bolt of lightning. As the scattered memories of her time in New York started to come into focus, in particular, those involving a science professor whose obsession with cryptozoology lead to his unceremonious dismissal. Among the items in his possession was a poster bearing the same image as that on the front cover. Gerald and Helga watch in paralysis as she slowly turns to them. She speaks at long last, but her voice is quiet and imperative:

"But I know someone who can…"


	13. Jack Partfine

"Mr. Partfine, you have five minutes left."

The skinny bald man in the brown fedora and goatee looks despondently at the mountainous pile of _Bigfoot Could be a Vampire_ books stacked upon the secondhand pool table. At the very least, he would be able to dump them into the hands of the Soldiers of Amity Thrift Store staff. But it was pittance as he considering he spent the last four hours trying to entice customers with an autographed copy of the book, only to receive a twenty-dollar bill from a fourth grader who thought he was getting some kid's book. Not to mention the countless other copies occupying the warehouse space he rented.

"You're welcome to take home some clothes if you like." The salesman tells him.

"Sure, I could use some new clothes." He says with a sigh.

With eight new shirts, two pairs of jeans and some boots to his name, Jack Partfine makes his way into the store's parking lot. He lets out a sigh as he sees the bus passes the empty bus stop and leans against the sign in anticipation for the next one. Looking skyward, he loses himself in his thoughts, unaware of a car rounding the corner and coasting to a stop in the lot behind him.

* * *

Inside Phoebe's car, Gerald and Helga scrolled through Jack Partfine's Grademyprofessor page, naturally scoffing at what they saw:

"Mm. Mm Mm! 'Overall Quality: 1.3. The difference between taking one of Partfine's classes and binge-watching X-Files reruns on Webflix is $5k in tuition. Skip him if you can.'"

"'Bigfoot? UFOs? Conspiracy theories? Toss in some gratuitous WWII factoids or redneck pawnshops and he'd fit right in on the History Channel.' Criminy, that's got to sting."

"'The only good thing I'll say about Dr. Partfine is that after playing a recording of his lectures for my parents, they've finally stopped sneering at me for majoring in Contemporary Dance."

"I got to know Pheebs, how _exactly_ do you know this Yutz?" Helga finally asked.

"It all began back at Columbia University" Phoebe said as the traffic light quickly changed form yellow to red.

 **(flashback: Phoebe POV/narration)**

" _He shared the company of nobody while sitting in the spacious faculty dining lounge. Perhaps it was the absurdly large stack of assorted cryptozoology books atop the table and both chairs next to him that kept him company, maybe it was because he was eerily silent and bought to mind a skeleton. Regardless, his was the only table where there was space to sit."_

" _The subtle creak my chair makes as it skids across the linoleum startles him. He gives me a startled look and proceeds to apologize, 'not many people sit near me.' The man then proceeds to introduce himself as Jack Partfine, an adjunct professor of the Biology department. For a paranoid conspiracy theorist, he was a friendly and good-natured man all around. He was knowledgeable, dedicated, goal-oriented and a dog owner too. All admirable qualities if his goal was anything besides looking for Bigfoot in the Big Apple, or tracking down some alien race."_

" _I seemed to be the only friend Jack had at Columbia. In between classes, he either sat in his office typing away on another article, or hanging around in the library thumbing through books on UFOs and ghosts, so a social butterfly he was not. As far as interpersonal relations went, while his obsession with the paranormal was a running joke among his colleagues, they regarded Jack with consternation, and even fear, rather than loath when the chips were down."_

" _Right around the point where my time at Columbia was coming to a close, Jack was suddenly fired when one of his manuscripts had found its way into the pile of works being considered for publication under the university press. Last time I saw him in person, he was cleaning out his office and packing everything into his RV. As much as he justified it as a good thing seeing as how he 'kinda couldn't get the cash together to keep living here' on an adjunct's salary, being fired still stunk on principle. Last I heard, he found a small quiet town in Connecticut to call home and lives off the articles he sends out to various paranormal periodicals."_

Helga takes a deep breath but inside she remains crestfallen. Phoebe had always been the more rational of the two in their friendship, but knowing how quickly she hurled her trust into the arms of a disgraced professor whose head was stuck in the Twilight Zone was too much. Still, as she thumbed through the journal anew, the blonde woman found no plausible way she could tell the cops with a straight face how or why this nonsense-riddled book held the key to her children's fate.

"Well, here's the Soldiers of Amity thrift shop." Gerald said.

The car rounds the corner and comes to a halt in the parking lot. After scanning the area, Phoebe sees Jack aimlessly wandering out of the store carrying a yellow plastic bag in his hand. With the car in park, the three of them make their way toward him just as he reaches the bus stop.

"Jack?" Phoebe says. "Jack Partfine?"

The man in question lets out a startled grunt. His demeanor does a complete 180 upon seeing the face of his former temporary colleague.

"Phoebe!" He exclaims giving her a hug. "It's been too long!"

"How have you been?"

"I wish I could say better." Jack began. But before he could continue, Helga cleared her throat causing Phoebe to snap back to reality.

"Oh, Jack this is my fiance Gerald Johanssen and this is my best friend Helga P. Shortman."

"Wait a minute." Jack said quizzically. "Your last name wouldn't happen to be Pataki would it? As in Big Bob Pataki, the Beeper King?"

All these years later, Helga's blood still managed to boil upon the mention of her father. Before she could pull Ol' Betsy out of retirement, Jack unfurls one of the shirts in his possession. Her fist opens up and instead goes to pinch the bridge of her nose as shock, embarrassment, and disgust begin to override the torrent of rage. A caricature of her father as the Beeper King reverently brandished one of the few elementary school portraits of yore her family bothered to invest in. Sandwiching the graphic was the following message:

I the Beeper King Proclaim: My Daughter's Loss=Your Gain.

Your first beeper is **FREE** if Helga doesn't win this year's spelling competition!

"Anyway…" Phoebe began in hopes of diffusing the awkwardness. "The reason I reached out to you is because we have a problem; not only has my friend's husband lost his reasonings since this morning, but their children are in peril. The only clue to their safety rests in this journal."

An intense silence overcomes Jack as he takes the ledger from Phoebe and feasts his eyes on the insignia. Chills seem to come over Gerald Helga and Phoebe as the odd man's already pale countenance turns ashen like a bowl of three-day old porridge and his pupils dilate and darken. Once he has finished catatonically flipping through a couple of pages he finally speaks.

"Qualx."

"I'm sorry?" Helga begins.

"Qualx. Q-U-A-L-X. The Thoraxian mother alphabet." Jack continued.

"The mother…what are…huh?"

"Where did you find this Phoebe."

"I didn't. Gerald pulled it out of some kid's backpack-"

"Then they've come."

"So you can translate whatever the heck this-"

"Yes, but not on the spot. I'd need my translation key which is in my RV over at the city lake-"

"Then get in my car Jack. We have no time to lose."

* * *

It had been thirty minutes since Jack Partfine holed himself inside the RV with the journal. Since Phoebe was the only one who had any clue of this guy's inner workings as a person, she drew the metaphoric short straw and went to see what progress he had made in deciphering the log. Under the guise of giving him some water, she knocked gently on his bedroom door and entered when he gave permission to do so.

Jack's bedroom was like an extension of his office; slightly unkempt and decorated with pictures of UFOs, bigfoots, ghosts and other images associated with the field of cryptozoology. The desk where he worked was occupied by a ham radio and geological equipment. It sat underneath a shelf containing a plexiglass human skull, a plaster sasquatch footprint and a jar marked "Hitler's Brain."

"Jack. How much progress have you made?"

"I'm almost finished."

Astonished, Phoebe pulled up a chair and listened as Dr. Partfine explained his findings.

"See Qualx is in many respects a red-headed sibling of Slavic, particularly South Slavic like Bulgarian, Serbian, or most likely Macedonian; it follows the same alphabetical rules as well as patronymic naming customs (only with an 'eus'/'ezhda' suffix as opposed to an 'ovich'/'ovna'). However, what differentiates Qualx from Earth Slavic is that it reads from right to left like Arabic or Hebrew."

"That's quite fascinating." Said Phoebe. "But what about translating this to English. How much have you got?"

"So far?" Jack began. "I can tell you with absolute certainty that it's a diary, and that the writer is clearly having second thoughts about his mission. Other than that, all I can obtain is a very rough translation."

"How rough is rough"

"Well, as you know Phoebe, like any language there are dialects."

"Yes." She responded. "And I'm assuming this Thoraxia is no exception."

"Precisely." Jack continued as he held up the book. "These dialects trace back to a time before the Big Bang when Thoraxia was composed of six dwarf planets (Miguvi, Antgor, Ristet, Jaisandar, Obregi and Xochib) rotating around an uninhabitable and stationary asteroid composed of pure polonium radonite, an element which can be weaponized in any state of matter. After the Big Bang, these planets smashed together like a giant metamorphic rock and after generations of interbreeding, boom, Thoraxians. From region to region of the planet, the language takes on its own set of vernaculars based on these ancient prehistoric alien tribes. Most likely, the author is of Ristetian stock as evidenced by the use of 'oo' coupled with the gendered suffixes of 'u'/'i' sounds for names beginning with a vowel. So this journal makes mention ten pages in about some figure known as 'Oornaldu'-"

"ARNOLD!" Came a voice from behind the door.

Jack and Phoebe looked up to see Helga standing in the threshold of the RV holding a glass of water. Her eyes were as wide as saucers upon the mention of her husband's name and she quickly walked near them.

"Tell me what it says about Arnold!"

"Okay. He's mentioned only once, right here in the final entry yesterday. ' _It doesn't take long for the commander to summon us to this Earth planet. My brother appears to be spilling over with joy at this chance to prove himself an asset. We arrive at base and are given the direct mission at 1:25 am earth time and given a very brief overview of our task._ _While my brother is to watch over_ _an earthling named Oornaldu Shortman_ _and keep him in his state,_ _I am to watch out for_ _his progeny_ _Cecil and Ooleanori. When the time is right, we are to_ _take them at the most convenient moment. What importance they have to our mission is unknown, but who are we to call our leader's orders into question?'_ "

* * *

Outside the trailer, Helga put down the empty glass and looked out at the sun as it begun its descent along the western horizon. She began and now appeared to end the day with her head abuzz with questions and news of a third child along the way. Gerald seats himself at her right, joining the pregnant wife of his best friend alongside her catatonic lakeside vigil.

"Mm. Mm. Mm. Can you actually believe what they're saying in there?" He chuckled in an attempt to make lighthearted conversation with Helga. "If I have to hear another sentence about Qualx, Thoraxia, or whatever space voodeedoo that Jack guy is spewing, I'll eat my own shoes!"

Helga didn't laugh. Instead she continued to stare out at the lake and mechanically ingest the glass' contents before finally speaking.

"I believe him."

"Seriously Helga?" Gerald balked. "How can Arnold being possessed by aliens make possible sense to you?"

"Because first of all, hair boy; nothing else does." She replied testily. "Yeah, Arnold always had his moments of pulling a 180 when we were younger, but I can tell you for a _fact_ that what I saw coming down the stairs this morning wasn't him at all. Intervention from space people is literally the only possible idea I can come up with. Throw in the fact that the safety of my children is now in question and my sense of disbelief is kinda shot!"

"Secondly, need I remind you of our pretty interesting track record of unbelievable adventures growing up? Engine 25, Wheezin' Ed's treasure? The Sewer King? The Ghost Bride? Ooh! How about that vengeful land tycoon who wanted to rip up our entire neighborhood because his ancestors got their ascots kicked in some knock-off Boston Tea Party? Or trekking through Central America while genocidal river pirates held our classmates hostage? If I didn't live through them, let alone, have the privilege of playing third musketeer in some of these adventures, I'd refer you to a nice little funny farm."

Helga could see Gerald's contrition and unease over her reaction. As he waved his hands in an effort to get her to relent, she turned back to the lake and sighed.

"But it was really seeing Jack's shirt that bought it all home." She continued.

"Yeah, you were so close to winning that spelling be and then-"

"-I threw it." She finished. "Yep! That's right. I Helga Shortman threw that crappy spelling competition of yore, thus paving the way for Arnold to win and get that snazzy piano he wanted."

"You blew a $500.00 prize and trophy?" Gerald said in disbelief.

"Bob spent that whole week grilling me like a burger hoping I'd follow in Olga's footsteps and ' _uPHoLd dUh pATaKi NamE_ ' because ' _PaTaKIs aRe WiNNeRs LitTLe LaDY_ '. Not to mention all those damned beepers he had staked on my victory. Can you imagine having that lowlife as your primary introduction to the male species?"

Gerald shook his head.

"Oh please, that was just the beginning. It wasn't enough that Bob was a jaw-droppingly unscrupulous businessman; he ran the house like a cartoon tyrant. Then you had Miriam drowning her sorrows in smoothie after smoothie and Olga turning herself into a tightly-wound wreck in hopes that each achievement she embarked on would extinguish the dumpster fire that was their marriage. And it worked hook, line, and sinker; while she relished in being the family livestock, I was chopped liver.

"And then there was Arnold." She said with a wistful smile and misty eyes. "Everything he embodied had just been empty words up to that point; kindness, principles, forgiveness, patience, friendship. With one umbrella and a compliment on my bow, he changed the entire course of human history as far as I was concerned. He liked my bow, it was pink like my pants."

"When did that ever happen?" Said Gerald. "Arnold and I have been tight since the minute he walked into preschool-"

"Well before all that, a four-year-old me spent that morning _walking_ to preschool because-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Back up; you? at age four? walked alone through Hillwood?"

"Yup! And it was a literal trek into Murphy's Law what with the sudden thunderstorm, the bums leering at me, the car, the mud, and that damned dog who stole my lunchbox. All because my mom and dad wouldn't stop clucking over Olga playing some Chopin piece. Were it not for him noticing my bow and giving me my crackers...But how they laughed, oh how our classmates laughed and pointed as I smiled when he handed me his snack. It was like being in a room full of pint-sized Bob's preying on any trace of vulnerability I dared to show; but worse because there wasn't just one. So after putting Pink Boy in his place-"

"You just shut down and became a miserable little-"

"Bully." Helga completed.

For what felt like eons, Gerald sat dumbfounded at Helga's story.

"You never told me this. After all these years…"

"I don't even think Phoebe knows." She replied. "And she's been my secret keeper on this whole Arnold thing since PS 118."

"Mm. Mm. MMM!" Gerald said. "Now his engagement plans that day made _so much_ sense."

"Yes, quite sentimental if you ask me." Sneered a voice from behind them.

Before Helga and Gerald could respond, Giarc pulled out what looked like a small television remote and fired it at the two of them. Shots of light discharged onto their wrists and ankles, bringing them crashing to the ground. With Helga and Gerald imprisoned, Giarc kicked down the door of Jack's trailer and repeated his actions on Phoebe and Jack, frog marching the foursome into a gold windowless van where the sight of Olga, Lila, Stella, and Miles (also bound and gagged) greeted them.


	14. Reunion in the Tunnels

" _Tzo, yezhe eebrod_ _Saakat Oornaldu eji jykorbetom_."*

Arnold stirred for a moment as the blindfold was removed. No scream in the universe could relieve the rage and fear coursing through his bloodstream as he laid his eyes upon his captors.

K'ciuq stood six-foot 3 head-to-shoulder. Other than the scaly epidermis, suction-cup hands and large lizard-like eyes that leered disappointedly at his prisoner, he looked just as human as the rest of Earth's populace. Cupping is mouth and covering his neck was a breathing apparatus of some kind.

" _U_ _kued_ _eji_ _mor inscribotsy_ _kaydnu lrig yob yreve yb-devol s'ohw…_ _rotovillo_ _. Tsegnorts_."**

"Boss, hey boss. Your voice box."

Gnalmij points vigorously to _his_ apparatus in an attempt to make the situation less awkward for his superior. With a mortified grunt, K'ciuq gestures to Arnold to wait a moment as he rushes back to his table and pulls out what looks like a miniature compact disc. As it slides into the apparatus' side slot, he takes a deep breath and picks up where he left off.

"*ahem*. One fish. two fish. Now, where was I? Oh whatever. The point I'm making is all hope is moot and you're my prisoner."

"I can see that." Arnold growled as he shook the ropes which bound him. "But I got my own set of questions starting with WHERE AM I AND WHAT HAVE YOU FREAKS DONE WITH MY FAMILY?!"

"My, my, my. It appears our church mouse has a roar." K'ciuq responds unfazed. "But I guess that we can accommodate you on _this_ matter."

With the clap of his commander's hands, Gnalmij gives a crisp bow at the waist and exits their company. A minute later, Arnold goes from furious to horrified as he sees Cecil, Eleanor and their friend Thomas dressed in rags and gagged by electro-shock collar/muzzles. With Gnalmij taking the lead, the trio are forced to halt and promptly shackled to the wall. As he opens his mouth to scream, Arnold feels K'ciuq apply a similar device to him. As the livid screech escapes his being, an electrical current pulsates inside his mouth. Its buzz drowning out the noise he emits from deep within his furious frame.

"And so, my plan has worked thus far." K'ciuq sneers to himself once Arnold collapses on all fours. "Sure there were hiccups, but to use an idiom of your people; its all water under the bridge."

"WHO SAID YOU CAN TOUCH ME LIZARD BOY?!"

"And now the players are all in…"

K'ciuq grips and massages his temples of his mantis-like head in frustration as his other subordinate enters their lair. Paraded in chains and blindfolds similar to the children are Helga followed by Gerald and Phoebe, Lila and Olga, Stella and Miles and bringing up the rear Jack Partfine. One by one, the seven prisoners are pushed forward, relieved of their blindfolds and gags, and left to sit on the floor of the tunnel looking around their new surroundings in a state somewhere between enraged and groggy.

"Well that's just great Giarc, why not bring all of earth into our bunker? We've only got a race to wipe out after all so-"

"Things got complicated." Giarc grumbled.

"'Bring me Arnold, bring me Cecil, bring me Eleanor.'" K'ciuq says as he counts off each name with his finger. "I distinctly remember my orders being something along those lines. Please enlighten me as to what made this assignment so complex. Seriously. I'm dying to know."

"Well…it appears that there are more people in the picture that go beyond our-"

"AND SEEING AS YOU _SUDDENLY_ HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS IN THIS OUTFIT, HOW! EXACTLY! DO _YOU_ SUGGEST WE DESPOSE OF THEM GIARC?!"

"Perhaps they can be sold O Esteemed One." Gnalmij interjected enthusiastically as he strode over to the prisoners "I'm sure that once the slave markets are relegalized upon your magnificent ascension to power, the merchants would reward us handsomely for this bunch."

"You do raise an interesting point Gnamij." K'ciuq replied as he looked over his new batch of captives. "How could they not? First off you got this swarthy specimen who seems to be in peak physical condition, there is more than a good chance that he can serve us well in the mines."

"Excuse me?" Said Gerald.

"And I'm sure once we purge their tongues, this trio of women can at least be trained in the domestic arts, though their breeding potential must be taken into account too. " The commander continued as he sized up Lila, Olga and Phoebe. "The elders appear to share the swarthy one's stamina so there is a chance they might join him in labor. The there's the scrawny one…"

"You know, as much as I enjoy being bound up and listening to your politically incorrect commentary," Helga suddenly snapped. "I still want to know where I am, who you are, oh and most importantly WHERE YOU GET THE GALL TO NOT ONLY DEEP FRY MY HUSBAND'S MEMORIES BUT KIDNAP HIM AND THE REST OF MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO BOOT!"

Slowly, K'ciuq, Gnalmij and Giarc turn towards Helga. With laughs reminiscent of an angry goose's hiss, the trio makes their way towards Helga; the ugly grins on their faces seem to increasingly curl with each step forward they take. As the last pair of feet surround her, K'ciuq commands the laughter to stop with a wave of his hand as he kneels down to whisper in the captive blonde's ear.

"Because my dear, you and to some extent your beloved Arnold are why we began this mission."

 **AN: Some translations.**

 ***So, it appears the Great Arnold is in my grasp.**

 ****And here I thought given all the mighty deeds written about you, I believed you'd be much…taller/stronger [in stature]. Such a shame.**


	15. History Part 1: Rise of the Second Orbit

***Denotes Thoraxian/Qualx***

White Torture.

A form of mental anguish where a prisoner's livelihood from the food they eat, and the clothes they wear, to the walls they look upon day in and day out are all white and pure silence. In time, the detainee's brain is beaten up very badly even without a touch as they lose identity. They're incapable of remember who they were and anyone from their family. Moreover, there is a conditioning of fear attached to the color 'white'.

The twenty-four eyes of K'ciuq's captives found themselves no longer in the poorly lit tunnels of Hillwood's sewers but facing a situation similar to that listed above: they stood in an upright and stationary position thanks to ankle shackles bolted to the floor in a painfully luminous room. But mentally rotting away in a homochromous hell was not the fate their captor had in mind; a fact made clear as their captor's voice filled the room via a hidden speaker once all eyes had adjusted to their environment.

"Are we comfortable. I hope so. Given that what you're about to endure hasn't been tested on your kind. Believe it or not, you're all in store for some entertainment. Think of it like what earth people colloquial refer to a 'motion picture'-"

"So that is your _eeeevil_ plan Dr. Forrister?" Helga snapped. "To send us cheesy movies? the worst you can find? And you'll make us sit and watch them all while you monitor our minds?

"Ooh! Ooh! do we get snacks?" Eleanor suddenly interjected. "I want a tub of popcorn and a large cup of Yahoo."

"A box of Milk Duds for me please." Cecil joined in.

Rather than give a verbal response, the shackles holding Arnold's wife and children illuminated and a searing heat began to immediately build up upon their ankles.

"I know nothing of this Forrister physician, nor will you impudent larvalings stuff your face-holes with treats. But believe me. I'll think you'll find the feature enlightening."

After four beats of silence, the room began to dim and the solid floor on which they stood became rocky and dark. In mere seconds, Arnold and the other prisoners found themselves standing amidst a scene akin to Riefenstahl's _Triumph of the Will_ ; throngs of loyal supporters screaming the name of their political messiah, legions of solders goose-stepping in sync with each other, murals featuring the might of the nation, and rows upon rows of armored cars each piloted by a saluting soldier.

* * *

" _T'yr-gasso! T'yr-gasso! T'yr-gasso!_ "

 _Atop a grandstand, the man of the hour bounds his way to the center flanked by a small entourage of soldiers. If the crowd was already riled up without his presence, they go absolutely bonkers as his posse departs from him and he takes to the podium. With merely a wave of his hand, a hush falls over the once cacophonous assembly and he speaks._

 _*"We, my beloved Thoraxian people, are a race born from the dust and grime; a race people fashioned into peace via the flames of hard labor and human degradation. A race whose prehistory is so mired in inter-planetary tension it might as well be written in the blood of our ancestors. Upon this very land once stood the Polonium Radonite penal colonies where murderers, insurrectionists and other scum mined for the very means for which our respective races could kill each other. But it was here where the Miguvians, the Obregians, the Antgorians, the Xochibians, the Jaisandarians, and the Ristetians. those six races who otherwise would have torn each other apart came together, seized their shot at greatness and bought forth on this hell-hole of swamps and mountain an empire of militaristic might which struck fear and awe into hearts all throughout the farthest reaches of space."*_

 _The applause resumes momentarily as T'yr-gasso reaches his hand skyward to illustrate the expanse of Ancient Thoraxia. But the noise ends as quickly as it began as he lowers his hands and bows his head in shame. His bluster diminishes and the light in his eyes darkens before he continues._

 _*"For too long, many of us hither and yon believed the days of our empire's greatness and supremacy to have long since passed. I say this not as some judgmental spectator, but as a fellow patriot._ _All my life I have been a 'have-not.' At home I was a 'have-not.' At school I was a 'have not'. I was a 'have not' standing in the shadows of tourists as a lad while they_ _condescendingly drooling and ogling the_ _watered-down, commodified, and cartoon version of_ _our people's marvels of yore. As an adult I am still a 'have not' seeing our leaders_ _forgetting that we forged the very throne from which they pontificate and look down on us as the great unwashed; or seeing our children return from their studies as entitled, intellectually fragile, and all too easily offended Larvlings of Saturn ashamed of their culture."*_

 _As the choir of boos fly from the crowd, T'yr-gasso bends down behind the podium and ascends holding up a caricaturized statuette of an ancient Thoraxian warrior. The figure is suddenly smashed to pieces before he bellows out the next part of his speech_

 _*"TODAY! THIS! CHANGES!"*_

 _A jumbotron style screen slowly rises behind T'yr-gasso. The screen flickers, revealing a camera shot from the courtyard of the palace. The deceased members of the royal family weren't afforded the decency of a coffin or a bier. Instead two ropes had been tied around their ankles, and their bodies hauled along the cobblestones before being unceremoniously hurled atop a pyre of shoddy souvenirs and vestiges of the royal family. Following them was the king himself bound in chains._

 _*"You_ _will_ _destroy yourselves and this country in the process."* He hissed furiously while two soldiers bound him to a stake._

 _The seized sovereign's words are greeted with the butt of a flamethrower to his abdomen courtesy of the younger of the two men who escorted him. Within seconds, a row of flamethrowers are presented. Upon the commander's signal, the_ _pile is set ablaze and the king's fate is sealed. As the flames greedily devouring the pile and the king's dying screams compete with the cheering throngs, a banner is unfurled beneath the grandstand bearing the words '_ _Yn Orbitium Tothy' or 'the Second Orbit'._

 _*"Behold O People, Tomorrow's serene future is forged by the temper of today's generation. The vestiges of a failed past shall fuel the torch that shall lead us not further along the path of contrition and compromise, but instead into a new chapter in it's storied history; a_ Second Orbit which shall last a thousand years. _Sustenance upon The Second Orbit, and sustenance upon it's torchbearers The League of the Thoraxian Loyalists"*_

* * *

 **(fade out and cut to The Presidential chambers of T'yr-gasso)**

 _*"So it is true then?"*_

 _After sipping heavily from a bottle, T'yr-gasso can only nod glumly at his general's quandary. He puts down the bottle and after suppressing a belch, shows him the intelligence report sitting between the two of them on his desk._

 _*"Yes General Y'niarb. The king has indeed managed to exile his daughter and a handmaiden before we took the castle. The only blessing in this matter is that we have finally zeroed in on her coordinates: the third in a line of puny little rocks floating around Helios Mu."*_

 _*"A fitting place when you consider what pugnacious and haughty life forms crawl along the face of that planet."*_

 _*"So you can understand why I have selected you and you alone for this undertaking. We need somebody with an accomplished caliber to make sure the princess is bought to justice and assure our mission to restore our empire's greatness. Someone with a record of prowess in the heat of adversity and willing to kill if necessary."*_

* * *

 **(fade out and cut to a laboratory.)**

 _*"Seeing as how we know not the length of this mission, I figured a typical 'hu-Man' ops suit wouldn't do. So I have been working on these pills which will alter your_ _Deoxyribonucleic make-up. Assuring success in your disguise among E-Arth's natives._ "*

*" _Typical of your brother_ _Larberec, playing around with his chemistry set."* A guard whispered to Y'niarb to which he let out a stifled giggle before telling him to play nice._

 _After giving a subtle eye-roll to Y'niarb and his fellow general, Larberec gives a sample of his creation to his older brother assuring him that the effects will only last for five minutes at most. The General is escorted behind a curtain and given a packet of earth clothing to change into upon completion of his metamorphosis. Once the pill is in his system, he bends over and grasps at the wall. Suddenly, Y'niarb's frame begins to shrink down and his skin becomes fleshy and pink. Once five fingers replace the gecko-like appendages that serve as his hands, he is told to come out._

 _Y'niarb turns to face the rest of his people once the transformation is complete. His posture is slightly hunched and a row of blonde spiky hair crowns his head. His gold shirt is two sizes too big, coming to rest at the knees like a skirt. After adorning his eyes with the round wire-glasses his face curls into an awkward smile and he gives a little bow to all before him in the lab._

* * *

"Woah! Isn't that-"

"Brainy?"

"Mm. Mm. Mm. I knew something was off about that weird little dude. But an alien?"

"Can't say I'm all that surprised." Helga says dryly. "Though, it explains why he could take a punch."


	16. History Part 2: Mission 060804

AN: -" _Denotes VO of Brainy/Y'niarb_ "-

As if seeing Y'niarb transfigure into Brainy wasn't already jarring enough for Arnold, Helga, Gerald, Phoebe and Lila to comprehend, the real surprise for the five of them came as the true voice of their "peer" filled the room. Excerpts from his log were described by (in English) over footage from various scenes from his time on Earth; starting with a certain snack time at Urban Tot's Daycare center on a dreary and inclement day. For the first time, they heard not the voice one would associate with an asthmatic nebbish who wheezed his days away save for maybe a word here, but a rich and commanding voice which hesitated every now and then as if to chose words like a jeweler selecting gems for his latest creation.

 _\- "I spend this overcast day still getting used to the conditions of my new body, and by extension the food. For some reason, the guardians of this camp seem to feel that a coarse wafer dusted with a sweet but aromatic spice paired with liquified fruit innards constitute as the perfect snack for the larval populace of this planet. A ruckus interrupts my musing; it appears that one particularly corpulent larvling has been shoved from his seat by an irate female peer. Her wrath has cowed the class into silence as she quickly establishes her place within the environment. My mission statement made mention of the princess' handmaiden as 'a defensive sort, one who must be approached with extreme caution.' She quickly identifies herself as Helga G. Pataki. Can this be the key to the princess' whereabouts?" Mission 060804 -_

 **(Fade out and cut to random footage of PS 118 hallways over the years)**

 _\- "My list of who the princess disguised herself as grows smaller and smaller by the day. So much so that I am coming to question the accuracy of the intelligence. The only clue is that she attends this particular learning establishment; Public School One Hundred and Eighteen. That said, I have had my theories: they could either be as thick as thieves (Helga and Phoebe) or acrimonious to each other so as throw off potential assassins (Rhonda and Helga). If the former of the two theories is correct, then the role reversal of their relationship is ingenious; the princess playing the put-upon lackey while the handmaiden calls the shots and terrorizes the populace. Ultimately, I learn that none of my immediate peers are the lost princess. Still though, despite the adverse reaction of my lungs to this planet's atmospheric conditions, my mission continues. Fruitless as it may seem." Mission 060804 -_

 **(fade out and cut to an evening along Vine Street, 1999)**

 _*"…All I'm saying_ _brother_ _is that it must be nice to have T'yr-gasso on your side."*_

 _Brainy sat beneath the batting cages of Gerald Field, a place which was often a dead_

 _silent place at 7pm in Hillwood. Here he could receive and send his superiors updates on his mission or (in this case) talk with his brother Larberec._

 _*"Did you know his advisors have lost a great deal of stock in you? AND that those who have been the most vocal about your removal, have already been…oh, 'dismissed'?"*_

 _*"Dismissed?"* Y'niarb asked._

 _*"Don't play stupid."* Larberec snapped as he ran a finger across his throat. *"Five have been purged the last month alone. They're saying you've become too involved with a certain maybe maybe-not hand maiden who adorns herself in pink and bequeaths names to her fists."*_

 _*"I can assure you the rumors are true. I have an angle-"*_

 _*"You've been feeding him this 'angle' for the past five years! I may not have been the all mighty warrior dad wanted, but if there's one rule that stuck it's NEVER emotionally compromise yourself on a mission."*_

 _Y'niarb opened his mouth, but Larberec cut him off._

 _*"_ _Don't_ _…tell me you aren't. You may have enough pull with T'yr-gasso to fool him and insodoing sentence his advisors to oblivion while you party around on earth, but I have something just as powerful…"*_

 _Larberec holds up a camera drone in his hand while precariously nudging his finger on the activation button._

 _*"All I need is my finger to slip, and this little toy of mine might or might not fly around while you and this hand-maiden occupy a shared vicinity, and all that good will with our dear leader will turn to naught…unless…"*_

 _*"Unless what, brother?"*_

 _*"I have had a theory as of late that the genetic signature contained in an individual's perspiration can be harvested for weapons. As you can assume, this conjecture has been dismissed as lunacy by the upper echelons of the army. If you can obtain a textile from one of these conceited carbon-based insects that crawl along the planet's face for me …"*_

 _Larberec suddenly reverses his fingers from the button of the drone, places it on a nearby table and takes five steps backwards._

 _*"Do we have a deal? Brother?"*_

 _Before Brainy could formulate an answer, Larberec's end of the screen fades to black. After casting a worried look skyward, the extraterrestrial spy rises himself from his place behind the batting cage and begins his lonely trek home. Along the way, he passes a nondescript boarding house where an oblong-headed boy tosses a bundle of cloth in the garbage. Apart from an amorphous orange stain, it is as teal as the egg of a robin. Crouching behind the cans, Brainy gives Arnold's discarded shirt a hearty sniff and begins to reestablish contact with his brother._

 _\- "…The sight of his discarded apparel caused me to relive seeing him earlier that day 'losing his cool' to borrow an earth term; all my life I had heard and believed that Earth's populace were violent insects who thought themselves alone and vastly superior in the universe because of it. So naturally, I jumped at the chance to do anything that would ensure (at the very least) their discreditation in the long run. But this living saint Arnold and his hymnist in pink have showed me that Earth isn't as black and white as we Thoraxians paint it. There emotional gamut doesn't begin and end with treachery or wrath. Looking back, I wish I could have seen that such complexities included a supposedly peaceful man who kept the moral rudder of his peers from veering lashing out at the woman who loves him more than she loves herself." Personal log of Y'niarb T'tel-tarb -_

 **(fade out and cut to the next evening)**

 _\- "After five years on this putrescent sphere of gasses and rock, I have come to the conclusion that the intel we were fed, was deeply misleading. From whence this yarn came, we know not; nor is it likely that we shall ever know. Henceforth, there shall be no more talk of a lost space princess._ _The Second Orbit has no need for fairy tales. The case is closed. And in this spirit, I request relief from this undertaking and permission to return home." Mission 060804 -_

 _The blindfold is lifted from Y'niarb's eyes. His eyes adjust to the tunnels beneath Hillwood's streets. Standing before him is a cycloptic guard of great bearing. Before the kidnapped captain could utter a sound, he feels her hands pushing on his shoulder and sending him into the pavement._

 _*"Kneel, damn you."*_

 _The guard joins his prisoner in genuflection as the lost princess finally enters. She remains every bit the leader while regally strolling through the subterranean squalor as if it were her palace, relieving her loyal guard with a gentle touch upon the shoulder. By Thoraxian standards, she is a spectacle to behold; even for the seemingly steadfast soldier sent to slay her._

 _*"I heard you were the best. Such a pity."* The Princess says tonelessly. *"I've been under your nose this whole time…yet your assumptions lead you elsewhere from what I have been told."*_

 _Y'niarb rises up in spite of his shackles, but the handmaiden knocks him over. The princess laughs in amusement._

 _*"What? You think_ _now_ _I'd let you rectify your failure? My lady in waiting could snap you like a twig if I gave the command. But your position presents a once in a lifetime opportunity, and dead you can do nothing."*_

 _*"And what is that? See to your return to the Thoraxian throne?"*_

 _*"Indeed it seems you live up to your codename Y'niarb. Talent such as yours in the field of battle shouldn't be wasted in the wrong hands. An opinion my handmaiden seems not to share."*_

 _*"And other than the threat of imminent death, what can you possibly have that can change my mind?"*_

 _The princess said nothing, but instead pulled out a small light and a sword. She cast the shadow of her weapon on the wall, to which Y'niarb scoffed._

 _*"A shadow? Your argument is a shadow?"*_

 _*"One of the greatest thinkers on this planet wrote a book about a man who lived his whole life inside a cave. Said life was bound by the rules of a game where shadows appeared and whichever prisoners guessed the most were considered the masters of nature. By happenstance, one of these prisoners managed to escape and see the world as it truly was, a world beyond the shadows and silly games the jailers played. If said man were to return to his state of being in the cave, could he ever truly subject himself to the false reality and whatever commendations therein? Or would he want to tell his fellow prisoners of all he experienced, even at the risk of death?"*_

 _*"You, Y'niarb, from what I have heard, have had a similar experience while traversing Earth looking for me. What were you told about earth's inhabitants before you took the assignment to kill me? That they were insects too arrogant and unfeeling to deserve existence? That their planet could be better used as literally anything else than their little terrarium? Then you came here. I have heard from spies within the League of Thoraxian Loyalists that you've heard a great deal about a bold and selfless young man who spit in the eye of everything you thought you knew. Haven't you?"*_

 _*"Yes. Arnold was his name. The pink girl has spoken of him at great and poetic length. And from what I have seen, she speaks truthfully."*_

" _But this is Earth remember?"_

 _Y'niarb opened his mouth but was silent. Inside his head swam as little by little he began to call into question his party's position on…just about everything. As his head swam, the princess then threw the sword at her captor's feet and gestured for her handmaiden to back away from him._

 _*"If you can truly go back to Thoraxia and forget everything you have witnessed on this mission, then plunge this sword into my heart and you can return home without fear of retribution on my handmaiden's part."*_

 **(fade out and cut to a Thoraxian military complex)**

 _Even by show trial standards, Y'niarb appeared to marvel at how quick it took for the so-called jury of his peers to reach a verdict in his case. Then again, he wasn't surprised; he had turn coat and had been taken alive in an attempt to oust T'yr-gasso and reinstate the exiled princess. The only question now was how he was to die-a decision left up to none other than the supreme leader himself._

 _As the last strap of his chair is fastened, Y'niarb sits stoically and nods his head in dismissal to the blindfold and gag before the glass chamber's door is sealed. His calm demeanor is in deep contrast to the guards sent to escort and oversee his demise. Once they cast a final round of nervous glances at each other, the least decorated of their group is kicked forward by his peers. His hands shake like that of a toddler about to be scolded as he pulls out the paper containing Y'niarb's fate._

 _*"General Y'niarb T'tel-tarb." He tremulously declares. "Given not only your monstrous level of betrayal against our nation and people, but also your onetime status within our ruling body, the Parliament of Thoraxian Law and Defense sentences you to die in our atomic chamber. If you have any final words, say them now"*_

 _But before the condemned commander can utter his last thoughts, Larberec bolts from the gaggle of scientists in charge of operating the death chamber and hastily pushes the button with a maniacal grin of pride on his face. A slow churning noise fills the room. Blue lights akin to thunderbolts fill the chamber, all of which envelope Y'niarb who continues to sit through it as if he is getting a haircut. Suddenly, Y'niarb's skin begins to boil while his left eye pops out from his socket and coagulates on the glass wall. In a matter of seconds, his skin melts away and his bones disintegrate into subatomic dust. A final blinding flash of light fills the chamber before it powers down._

 _The smell of burnt death assaults everyone as the chamber door is opened. Y'niarb's frame is bent over and a small blue fire had appeared where his face used to be. When they unstrap his charred body from the chair, both disintegrate into cinders. But as the guards fight the urge to retch as they clean up the remains of their onetime commander, Larberec inhales deeply as his face curls into a demented bust satisfied smile._

 **(fade out and cut to the Van Allen Belt)**

 _*"I'd do it again really." He said. "I'd push that button five, ten, fifty times over if I could."*_

 _His dwelling was small and unassuming, but for Larberec, it was a roof and security. Still, as K'ciuq looks over his shoulder, rage fills the now aged alien scientist's eyes as he points to a photo of Y'niarb beside T'yr-gasso and thumbs through more memories from his days as a Thoraxian scientist._

 _*"But he was your brother"*_

 _*"And I was barely worth whatever breath I took next to him."* Larberec snapped back with his voice dripping in hate. *"Nobody could ever understand what it is like to go your whole life hearing how 'he was the warrior, he was the leader, he was the conqueror…and I just existed at his largesse' day in and day out… Then to know he threw it all away like that…for that pink poet."*_

 _Larberec flips through the album and points to a picture day at PS 118. Three markings stain the otherwise immaculate snapshot: a scrawl over the place where Brainy stood, and two red circles over a dour unibrowed girl in pink and white as well as an oblong shaped boy holding up the class sign._


	17. A Modest (but Putrid) Proposal

As the screen faded black for the last time, Arnold, Helga, Gerald, Phoebe, Olga, Lila, Stella, Miles, Eleanor, Cecil, Thomas and Jack suddenly heard a faint clicking noise and experienced what felt like a mask coming off around their eyes. As they groped around getting used to the dark, the twelve captives came to realize that they had been sitting this whole time in the tunnels beneath the city. Once their eyes finally adjusted, they came upon the sight of K'ciuq sitting on a discarded swivel chair while Gnalmij and Giarc flanked his sides holding weapons.

"And now you know the damage you have caused; Arnold with his deeds, and you Helga with that little pink book. You have bought down an empire and torn a family asunder-"

"So that's what this is all about. Revenge." Helga interjected.

"Clever girl." K'ciuq replied slimily with a slow clap of his hands. "Yes. Revenge. Revenge for an empire whose valor and greatness had been stolen shattered twice by warfare. For a people cudgeled into allowing the elite to act as if they owned our history. And for my father who toiled in the shadow of an older sibling that threw away any glory he had been bestowed. But all that shall change once we are done with our business here."

With a wave from their commander, Giarc and Gnalmij seize and throw Helga at his feet. Her attempts to return are in vain as he begins to yank her hair, forcing her to face him.

"Uncle Y'niarb, made much mention of your poetic talents to Arnold. It would pain him deeply seeing your talent decaying amidst the ashes. I find myself seeing eye to eye with him on this matter and in that spirit offer you a chance at survival at my side. Admittedly, you are a repulsive specimen to behold and you are entering the waning days of your child-bearing peak, but I'm not looking for you to carry my progeny. I am simply in dire need of someone to erect statues and compose hymns of my glory and service to the people as Thoraxia's Helmsman of the _Third_ Orbit."

K'ciuq leans hard into Helga's face, allowing her to see every scale in the makeup of his countenance. He could feel the tremors of rage pulsate along her skin but still finds the nerve to take her hand in his.

"What say you Helga Pataki?" He whispers. "Will you be my one trophy from the conquest of this fetid rock?

"GET OFF ME YOU INTERGALACTIC INCEL!" Helga shouts after delivering a well-deserved bite to her captor. "I don't know what passes for ears in your part of the galaxy, but clean them out and make this clear. My talent comes from a place of abandonment and hurt that I would NEVER wish on my worst enemy, which given the circumstances seems to be you and your space Nazi friends. Yeah, Earth sucks. Read all about it in the Daily Duh: We got war, famine, greed and Christian Rock music. Parents play favorites with their kids, your classmates have the collective maturity of a bratty three year old, you force yourself to hide your feelings because you've been raised to see affection as weakness, and so the list goes on!"

She brusquely strolls back to her husband and takes his hand while shielding him. Her voice suddenly got quiet but remained full of conviction.

"But going through life nuking bridges with humanity isn't the answer to it all. And this man, this selfless, bold, man showed me that day in and day out just by being himself. Even with kids of my own, I still get that same flutter in my heart over him helping people at work that I did when we were kids. And why? Because he's a builder, a mender. He sees something worth saving or fixing in the most broken and hopeless of people or situations. I hope our children…(she pauses to gesture to her stomach)…all of my children, inherit a shred of an iota of his goodness in their life."

Arnold's eyes widen.

"So this morning…when you said you were…"

"Yes Arnold, we're going to be parent's again."

Helga turns back to K'ciuq whose entire frame shakes with fury as she picks up where she left off.

"And your Uncle knew that didn't he? He saw Arnold at work just as much as I or anyone else here did. Arnold showed him that Earth was more than just some wasteland of arrogance that needed to be bought to heel in the name of whatever political game you wished to play. But you, you destroy what you can never have. You lead this ramshackle vendetta against us, turn my husband's brains upside down and kidnap my kids, all in the name of making your galaxy great again. So you can take your proposition and eat it. You've done nothing to warrant my talent."

Rather than respond, K'ciuq emotionlessly pulled out a small weapon and fired two bright blue beams akin to those that killed his Uncle at the huddle of hostages. Miles was the first to be struck in the face followed by Stella receiving a beam to the upper abdomen. A n agonizing scream filled the tunnel as the beams burst upon contact with their flesh. The light of life was gone from their eyes before they hit the floor.

Before the rest of the group had a chance to avenge Miles and Stella, Giarc and Gnalmij opened fire of their own; emitting a paralysis beam which sent them flying backwards. One by one Arnold, Olga, Helga, Lila, Gerald, Jack, Thomas, Cecil, Phoebe and Eleanor watched as K'ciuq's lackeys bound them together in sets of twos. K'ciuq finally spoke as he watched the surviving prisoners struggled hopelessly to free themselves

"You've made your stance clear Helga; and now as have I. Once earth has been laid to waste, the rest of you shall die."


	18. I Can Smile at the Old Days

**Flashback: 2002**

 _Grandpa Phil could only cry out helplessly as the 286-DX plunger shifted under the weight of Harold Berman's fatigued butt cheeks. Beneath the city, unbeknownst to the rest of Hillwood's denizens, he and the rest of the boarders had stashed roughly a ton of explosives underneath the city in one of the many subterranean tunnels which honeycombed their district. The dilapidated building which served as FTi's so-called "information headquarters" turned to rubble in a matter of seconds as did the Orwellian Scheckvision TV screen which haunted Hillwood for the past month. Their now shackled overlord's platitude about change being good played for a moment before the screen went black forever and steam seeped through the cracks._

" _Well what do you know, I thought we set the explosives more down the_ _middle_ _of the street." Grandpa remarked before fleeing the scene._

 _In time, Phil was given a pass (so to speak) for orchestrating that particular act of insurrection. But while the building was restored and ultimately became a home, the subterranean portion of the crater left in the aftermath went untouched as a testament of sorts to the wily old man's scheme._

 _And it was into this crater where K'ciuq ordered his hostages to be stored until the last of the planet was laid to waste. Each couplet of prisoners occupied their celled portion wiling the hours left before their personal destruction._

* * *

 **Olga and Arnold**

The hole in Arnold's heart had returned with a vengeance.

He knew that there would come a day when his parents would join Phil and Gertrude. But never did he ever think that such a reunion would be so quick, or involve being slaughtered at the hands of a rancorous alien soldier with delusions of grandeur.

Try as he might, the image of Miles and Stella being hit with K'ciuq's weapons coupled with them falling to the ground kept replaying without end. On top of all that, the full weight of his experience under the RDC's influence began to catch up with him. Meaning that Arnold's only respite from mom and dad's murder was interspliced moments of him waking up that morning and screaming at Helga, barging though the halls of his Alma Mater, and lashing out at both Patty and Melchior before drinking himself into the border of oblivion.

"Hey…Arnold…"

All the normally upbeat man could do now was stare at the ceiling of his cell, oblivious to his sister-in-law's attempts to bring him back to reality. It isn't until Arnold feels the sudden sensation of Olga's arms around him that his emotional floodgates are shattered. A torrent of tears and snot cover Olga as her sister's husband wails with abandon.

"I'm so sorry!" He bawled. "I'm so sorry I lashed out like that! To Patty, to Melchior, to mom and dad, to Gerald and Phoebe and…and…And the worst one I offended was Helga in all of this. I lashed out at her for no other reason than the fact that she was carrying my child…and the booze. What on earth was going on with me! Knowing everything she and you endured because of Miriam…I…If she's done with me…I'd hate me too after today."

Olga's shushing did little to quell Arnold's hysterics. Before long, he found himself past silent and spent from crying. With no further tears to shed and his voice strained, Olga told Arnold to look her in the eye as she addressed him in a firm but loving tone.

"Arnold. I'm not going to lie. Your conduct today has been a massive 180 for all of us, Helga especially when you consider that once again, she is playing host to your progeny. But you're wrong. The only foreseeable way Helga could ever be done with you is on her deathbed. And no force on this earth, or this universe, can change that."

"You think so?"

"Wrong again. I _know_ so Arnold. I'm not as aloof as I lead on. Helga is a strong girl. You'd have to be to survive a lame mom, a blowhard dad and…well, me. I've stumbled upon my fair share of monologues and uncovered the occasional shrine. You've been her rock through so much simply by being you. She loves you, and you'll get through this just as you have so much else."

Comforted somewhat by this, Arnold's face broke into a shaky smile.

"Still though," She continued. "I've always wondered. How _did_ it all begin?"

"Our first day of Preschool." He said weakly. "I liked her bow. It was pink like her pants."

Olga's jaw dropped slightly and felt small rivers of teardrops starting to coast along her cheek. Looking up to what little of the sky was accessible via the sewer grate, the corners of Olga's mouth curled into a fluttered smile as the full effect of Arnold's words sunk into her psyche.

(Flashback: Late May/Early June of 1986)

 _Though the 'rap' commercial for his company had been on the air since last October, seeing it on TV never failed to make Daddy pleased as pie._ _This_ _was the commercial that cemented his place at the top of the heap when it came to electronics in the city of Hillwood and provide for us the life we would have for the foreseeable future._

 _If you need new beepers to do your_ _ **thing**_ _!_

 _Come to Big Bob's he's the Beeper_ _ **King**_ _!_

 _Widest selection this side of the metr_ _ **opolis**_ _!_

 _Page ya-boyz from down the street or from the Acr-_

 _As quickly as it had appeared, the ad featuring the RUN DMC wannabes mugging the camera and rapping their jingle vanished as the screen iris-ed out before going black. With a frustrated groan, he looked up from the pile of bills on the dinner table to see Mommy standing in the threshold behind him remorselessly holding the TV remote._

" _Not. A. Peep. Robert." She whispers venomously. "Helga has finally nodded off for the night. And I'll be damned if that moronic advert of yours-."_

" _Hey! Heyheyheyheyhey!" He retorted while wagging his beefy finger within inches of her face. "The way my beepers have been flying off the shelves, that 'moronic advert' is practically a mint unto itself. And at the rate I'm paying these hospital bills, we'd be living in the damn store were it not for all the money coming in lately. Imagine that, us squatting in the emporium like a couple of failures!"_

 _To prove his point, he snatches some of the papers one by one and waves them at his wife's general direction even as her face further curls into an agitated sneer._

" _Her ear infection, her fever, your high blood pressure, another fever, her colic drops, your gestational diabetes, her constipation, that one visit after we learned she was allergic to strawberries. Not to mention that nice house you liked on 36_ _th_ _Street … So, if I were you, I'd choose my words carefully next time, ok Miriam?"_

" _Mhm." Mommy said dryly. "And I'm sure we'd_ _suddenly_ _have money to burn if Helga was that son you always wanted. Or does her health take a back seat to more pressing matters like, I don't know…(Miriam snatches two bills of her own at random off the table)…Olga's piano tutor or whatever spelling coach you dig up this week?"_

" _At least with Olga I know my money is well spent!" Daddy said a little loudly as he gestured to a small pile of trophies by the corner. "Or are they giving out prizes for 'most likely to replace an air raid siren' or 'world's record for infant ear-infections' these days?"_

" _Dammit B." She shot back suddenly matching his volume. "She's your daughter not a prize horse! And Olga too. I know we didn't plan for Helga in the slightest but we as parents still have a duty to-"_

" _Oh! Oh, that's rich!" Bob suddenly bellowed. "Little Miss 'Tie My Tubes Doctor' is going to give_ _ME_ _a sermon on how to be a loving parent!"_

 _By now, I am standing in the threshold of my room, a stone's throw from the space that passes for our apartment's den. I couldn't sleep, and hoped that me showing up would quell their latest row (as it often has in the past). Mommy opens her mouth but from the deafening silence that chokes the atmosphere she knows he was right. With a nasty look at her husband she slunk out of the room just in time for Helga to start crying again. I bolt back inside so as to relieve mom from baby duty. From the corner of my ear, I hear daddy mumble: "That's right, go grab a smoothie."_

 _Most nights I hated when she cried, but compared to mommy and daddy fighting like that I'd take Helga's wailing any day. Since we shared a room, I could determine by now which cry meant what issue. But even without my newfound gift, I could smell the problem the instant I turned back into the bedroom._

 _I have watched mommy change Helga so many times, I could do the job blindfolded if the occasion ever arose. Once she is out of her foul fabric, washed and talcumed, it occurs to me that she had soiled the last diaper from the pile mommy had stashed in our room. Furthermore, even though the crying has stopped, she is still so fussy. I set her down on my bed knowing we had just bought a new box but neglected to take it in from the den._

 _I come back, open the door, and there's Helga scooting towards my nightstand where a little pink hair bow sits next to my lamp and hairbrush._

" _Here, let me…" I say as her little fingers swipe at the accoutrement._

 _As I clip the bow to the wispy little strands that pass for Helga's hair, she is truly at peace for the first time since her birth. No squirming, or crying, not even a babble. Just silence. She lays on her stomach and her face breaks into this pitiable and supplicating smile. A wordless plea to be unconditionally loved by the three of us, as opposed to the foundation of mommy and daddy's neglect and scorn. There is even a single tooth starting to protrude at the upper right corner of her mouth.*_

" _Aww. Baby Sister's first smile."_

 _By the time I aim my camera at Helga, the smile has been replaced with her default look: unfathomable fury. Nonetheless, it's the only picture anyone seems to have wanted to take of her since leaving the hospital and so it went into the heart shaped frame bearing the words 'My Widdle Sister' that a friend of mine gave me when I learned mommy was expecting a girl._

Olga's face breaks into a faint smile looks down at Arnold as he slumbered on her lap, clearly spent from expressing his despondency. She gives his hair a faint brush with her hand before looking at the wall separating them from the next cell over.

* * *

 **Lila and Helga**

"You know, I never really apologized."

Lila looked at her sister-in-law with a puzzled look.

"For?"

"Treating you as a rival and not a friend."

"Oh, Helga." Lila said putting her arm on her sister-in-law's shoulder. "You don't have to-"

"You say that." Helga replied quickly. "And yeah, maybe I wouldn't be so contrite about it if we didn't have this whole 'end of the world' deal looming over us. But if we're going to be wiped off the face of the earth, I'd like it to be done on a clear slate if that's okay with you."

"Point taken." Lila said tonelessly. "…was I really that bad though?"

"In hindsight, no." Helga said. "Okay yeah, everything you did was insufferably perfect, and I already had enough of that at home with…well, your wife now…and maybe because Arnold all too happily ate up your 'ever so' pleasant demeanor hook, line, and sinker, I often wondered when the tornado would whisk you back to Oz with the scarecrow, the tin man and the big gay lion-"

"Please tell me there's a point to all this." Lila interjected dryly.

"But. When all is said and done." Helga finally finished. "I couldn't ask for a better friend. And given Olga's rotten relationship resume back when she was in the closet, I'm honored to have called you my sister in law. I only hope the feeling was mutual."

"Ever so much Helga." Lila replied with forlorn honesty. "Ever so much."

* * *

 **Phoebe and Eleanor**

The ring had sat on Phoebe's finger for a full 24 hours, yet each gleam the gems gave off seemed to mock her. Each way she turned her hand seemed to create a new glint, and simultaneously trigger another memory.

(Three years prior)

 _New York._

 _The Big Apple._

 _And I Phoebe Heyerdahl would be taking a bite of my own._

 _My stroll through the hall seemed more like a glide once the news finally sunk in that I would be loaned out to NYU for their fall semester. Giddy didn't begin to scratch the surface of how I felt. I, with only year and a half out from being hired, was chosen personally by the head of the department for this task. Once in the safety of my office, all decorum can truly be thrown to the wind. I give my swivel chair a spin and squeak over my turn of fortune._

"… _oh, no surprise Heyerdahl got it."_

 _Of course, it would take my colleagues to knock me off cloud nine, especially the male ones. One would think that the triumphs of one would be the triumph of all, but no. Even in a campus as forward minded as UPS, there was still an undercurrent of fragile white masculinity, and the center of the storm was the office of Professor G. Tobal. Through the paper-thin walls that separated his office from mine, I could hear his latest musings on how the NYU opportunity was practically gift-wrapped for me because I was a woman of mixed heritage and blah, blah, blah, all stuff I heard from him before. But it isn't until two of his equally-unevolved cohorts bring up Gerald that I truly begin to feel offended._

" _Dude, I'd give my left foot to be a fly on the wall when her boyfriend hears. Bet he'd sizzle over the idea of Phoebe on the town huh?"_

" _Please, if any of them is going to cheat it's going to be Gerald. Poor dude probably doesn't get any as it is the way she works."_

" _So there is a Gerald, I always thought he lived in Canada if you know what I mean."_

" _Nah, I bumped into him once during a holiday party 'bout a couple years back. Total cuck if you ask me…"_

(Later that day)

" _Hey Phoebe. Congrats on landing the NYU gig."_

" _Oh, thanks Eve." I say to the head of the Women's Studies department as she joins me in the quad. "It's just so exciting, me. Phoebe Heyerdahl going to New York."_

" _I know right? Nothing like this has been offered before. And to see it go to a woman…and not just any woman but you. I mean…wow."_

" _How do you figure?" I reply._

" _I mean you're the only female in the department. So, how does the brilliant Phoebe Heyerdahl plan to celebrate this crack in the Puget Sound glass ceiling?"_

" _Dinner with my boyfriend. I'm breaking the news to him at Chez Pierre."_

 _Looking back, I could see her face fall in 20/20 rather than out of the corner of my eye as I shoot Gerald the text. Eve looks shocked and crestfallen at first; but then the color drains from her face and all the joy with it until the skin becomes almost…waxy. I could almost see the smoke billowing from her nostrils as she tilts her head upward and her nose crinkles in disgust. But what haunts me most are Eve's eyes as they contract and glaze over with pure rage, bringing to mind two freshly dug graves. Topping it all off was the icy and dismissive 'oh' she lets out as if my answer was a smushed-up insect she was scraping from the bottom of her shoe._

" _What do you mean, 'oh'?" I ask a little hurt by her shift in character._

" _Some of the other members of the Women's Studies department were planning a night in your honor, but if_ _that_ _is how you'd rather spend the night…I have some finals prep to do anyway. See you around."_

 _Both of us knew her excuse was crap and the smell of it lingered long after she departed. We were just giving out the last of the midterm grades, so finals weren't a thought in anyone's mind at this point. But even as her car drove past the quad on its way off campus grounds, I could still see that deeply offended look of hers still remained cemented on her face._

(After Dinner)

"… _I don't get you Phoebe! You nearly CLEPped your way out of college, you practically got your masters before you could legally drink, you've been a tenured professor before the ink dried on your doctorate…and I…I don't know what more you could need out of life!"_

 _Gerald storms away from Chez Pierre in a huff. And really, I don't blame him. The shadow of Gabriel and Eve's respective reactions gnawed at me all throughout the night. Try as I might not to let it spoil our evening out, all it took was six words to turn my already wavering patience into dust;_

" _My Darling. Will you marry me?"_

 _It shouldn't surprise anyone that Chez Pierre has an engagement protocol down to a science; the bustling restaurant comes to a complete standstill, all heads turn to the prostrate gentleman as he pulls out that little box, she does that 'put your hand to the mouth because you're so overwhelmed' thing all women do when being proposed to and more often than not, tears flow and she accepts. A polite round of clapping caps off the routine and little by little the patrons go back to their meals._

 _It shouldn't have been the final straw, but it was._

 _Once the check was paid, I rush out as subtly as possible, but Gerald knew something was up. He follows after me and…we fight. Sure, we've had our squabbles here and there (what couple doesn't), but if I ever had to pick a moment where the risk of us breaking up was palatable, this was it. Words were exchanged, accusations were aired and each of us tried to outdo why we felt the other sucked at that particular moment._

 _Ultimately, each of us told each other what was bugging us and we resolved to move forward. But…I always…I always—_

"I always thought we'd have forever." She whispers to herself.

Eleanor looks at the woman she had come to consider her Aunt and sits close to her.

"That's a nice ring Uncle Gerald got for you." She said. "I'd have said something sooner, but…given how the day seemed to go I-"

"No honey." Phoebe replied pulling the girl close to her. "It's quite ok. I understand…just promise me one thing if we somehow get out of here."

"What's that Aunt Phoebe?"

"Being strong and successful doesn't mean that you stand alone." She said. "Yes, you'll have personal glories, but you'll also have personal falls as well. And…and the people who hold your hand through both…never let them go."

* * *

 **Gerald and Jack**

"Well you seem oddly at peace."

The lanky ex-professor from the East Coast stirred and faced Gerald who continued to pace around their portion of the crater. In contrast to his agitated and active cellmate, Jack reclined in the corner as if the floor were a hammock and stared emotionlessly at the ceiling.

"Because walking back and forth seems to be solving our problems." He snapped back. "Tell me, how's that hole in the floor working out? You think we'll make it out in time for breakfast?"

With a frustrated grunt Gerald collapsed on the floor, continuing to leer at his cellmate.

"Well at least you get your wish though." Gerald muttered.

"And what might that be?"

"You spend your last living hours seeing science turned on its head. 'Aliens Exist!' the headlines scream, or would scream if there was an earth left to read them."

"Totally makes dying in an alien holocaust seem worth it." Jack responded sarcastically. "Everyone thought I was crazy; riding around the country documenting aliens, conspiracies and all that. You know? My parents, my students, hell even my dog Roswell thought I was wacko…( _I don't even want to know_ Gerald thought to himself) … A whole lifetime of work and nobody to prove wrong."

"Yeah, that's a word." Gerald said icily. "All of civilization on the cinder, but at least you get to die right."

"At least you got friends, a fiancée, stable employment. All Phoebe did was talk about you and the future she had planned. And no, I'm not saying this out of envy. I never had that kind of feeling in... I'm just saying that out of the two of us, you got more to live for."

Gerald stops for a moment and looks back at Jack, who at this time had begun to close his eyes. He shuffles to the bars guarding the entrance to their cell and looks across the way to the shadow of Phoebe comforting Eleanor as his cellmate's last words ring around his brain.

(Three years Prior)

"… _I don't get you Phoebe! You nearly CLEPped your way out of college, you practically got your masters before you could legally drink, you've been a tenured professor before the ink dried on your doctorate…and I…I don't know what more you could need out of life!"_

 _Every group has that one member; the guy or girl who feels miles behind their respective and ever-shrinking social circle when it comes to moving on and making headway in the big wide world of adulthood. For whatever reason, being 'grown up' (whatever that means) has become a soul-crushing game of compromises and settling in their professional and personal life while all around them friends get that second (or third) degree, or buy that home in the suburbs, or start that business…and on and on the snowball rolls gaining size and crushing you into the ground before you know it._

 _And who, those at home may ask, wore the distinction of being that friend?_

 _Me._

 _I'd been feeling it for a while now._

 _I don't want to say Arnold and Helga getting married started it, but it kind of did. On the one hand, the two of them practically_ _were_ _married since sixth grade, so them exchanging vows was just an affirmation of the granted. On the other hand though, playing beta couple to the two of them our whole lives lead many to ask whether or not wedding bells would chime for us in the near future, especially when Phoebe and I caught the Bouquet and Garter respectively._

 _Pretty soon the floodgates opened; Rhonda took the fashion world by storm. Arnold and Helga sold the boarding house and moved to the suburbs with their kids. Harold opened a second (Kosher) Green Meats, Lila became Miss Lottery, Stinky and Sheena moved back to Arkansas after exchanging vows, Then you had home where Jamie-O finally found the wherewithal to grow up courtesy of Uncle Sam while Timberly turned her talent for selfie-ing all day into a modeling gig for RWL's girls' line. By contrast, I spent the first five years out of college bouncing from entry level job to entry level job before going back for my Masters hoping that would make me more marketable. Nearly a year out from_ _that_ _and nothing seemed to come to fruition._

 _I just put in for that Principal's position at the Ol' Alma Mater when I got the phone call from Phoebe that she would be going to New York. As much as I try not to show it, I'm on edge during the whole night, as was she. There we sat; two people with the same feeling in the back of our minds, each of us had something we were trying to suppress for the sake of the other having an enjoyable evening. Each of us one nudge away from blowing our stack…_

" _My Darling. Will you marry me?"_

 _Watching everyone gawk and coo over the soon-to-be newlyweds demolished my already strained resolve. Phoebe made it clear that she wanted some level of establishment before tying the knot and for the longest of times I respected her decision. but as I felt forced to watch Cecil and Eleanor grow up, and everybody seeming to relish every milestone of theirs, eroded that respect. Now I had just spent the night dancing on eggshells only to see her bolt from the restaurant like Cinderella from the ball at midnight…and…well, I saw red._

 _It didn't occur to me until the next morning that our little spat could have been the end for us; a notion driven home the next morning via a series of furious texts from Helga and an invitation to chat from Arnold. As the women headed off the airport, Arnold and I had a heart to heart over lunch._

" _Gerald. I've known you my whole life practically. I can tell when you're upset, even when you try and hide it. But…I don't get why you didn't talk to us or anyone sooner before…this"_

 _Something in the tone of his voice sets off whatever frustration hadn't been expelled from last night. Before he could finish his sentence the dam breaks and it all the spiritual bile comes out._

" _You're right Arnold. You don't get it." I say icily after taking a swig of my tea. "I'm thirty-three years old and if there's anything I learned how to do as an adult it's settle, endure, and cut your losses. After that, I don't feel any different than I did as a kid. I…I see you and Helga having a family, and everyone else making all these strides in life. Meanwhile, I wake up, put in my hours in my crappy part time job, and spend the rest of the day feeling more beholden to other people than I did when I was in diapers. My next steps are in someone else's hands whether it's getting a better job than what I have now, or when I get to put a ring on Phoebe."_

" _But God forbid I say anything." I continue as the waitress refills my cup. "God forbid I feel jealous or hating or whatever, so I become guilty and…"_

 _Arnold just nods._

" _And that's what's been bugging me the most. Phoebe especially. She literally has everything she's ever set out to accomplish; the Masters, the Doctorate, the dream job, the tenure…and…here I am watching my big life goals becoming what I should be doing as an adult anyway; stuff like moving out of my parent's place or getting something full time…and both of those are_ _apparently_ _too much to ask!"_

 _I didn't learn of Phoebe's half of the story until later that day from Helga; the butt-hurt white dudes who feel stepped on, and militant women's studies professors looking for someone to live vicariously through. That'd peeve anybody off. And while it gave me a healthy dose of perspective, it still didn't fully excise my troubles. That would come two weeks later when I learned that a nice letter of recommendation went a long way into getting my resume another look over from the Hillwood Superintendent about that principal position at PS 118._

Gerald blew a kiss at her general direction before laying down and shutting his eyes.

* * *

 **(Thomas and Cecil)**

"I'm sorry."

Cecil looked up at his despondent friend as he stared blankly at the ceiling of their portion of the prison.

"I didn't think this would-"

"Nobody saw this coming dude." Cecil responded soothingly. "Maybe on Star Trek or something do kids expect to be ensnared by alien life forms because their mom and dad spent their childhoods inadvertently foiling a covert mission to annihilate earth. But here in real life? That's not something you plan for."

"Well when you put it like that…" Thomas began. "But I mean…I…I never had friends when you really think about it. Yeah, I bonded with J.P. Daniel and Max, but we were all just wierdos taking up space anyway. Nothing seemed to click with me and people since you and Eleanor.

When it came to matters of the heart, Cecil would be the first to admit that he wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box. But hearing the tone in which Thomas had said his sister's name in that particular sentence got the boy's wheels turning. He flashed a grin and nodded subtly upon reaching an answer.

"She really likes you."

Thomas turned his head towards Cecil.

"She may not say it, she's a pretty tough girl when she needs to be. But you've come up a few times in household conversation, glowingly of course. And my opinion may not mean a whole lot when it comes to my sister's life, but if something came from that, I'd find it pretty cool. I mean, if we survived this of course."

Thomas started to chuckle slowly, prompting Cecil to start laughing in their own right. It was all they could do given the circumstances; laugh and bro it out as they whittled their last hours of life as they knew it. But lost in their now hearty guffaws was the sound of footsteps coming towards the makeshift jail that housed them all.

* **Author's Note** : There's a brief moment in the episode "Married" during Arnold's last nightmare where the youngest of their hell-spawn spits up on his shoe. It lasts about a second but at the 19:23 mark in the link below, you can see the smile on the face of the aforementioned kid. Olga's memory of Helga's smile as a baby is inspired by this particular scene. ( video/x6v0t2c)


	19. The Blood Oath of Ristet

*Denotes Thoraxian/Qualx*

He had entered into their midst as quietly as a snake, yet his fussing about proved to be his undoing. One "extra" step sent Gnalmij hurdling forward and the keys to the cells onto the ground. The metallic tinkling and their captor's profane hisses caused the prisoners' collective heads to stir as K'ciuq's bodyguard rose up and began hastily unlocking the cells. As the chains fell from Helga and her sister in law's bodies, the first thing the blonde woman did with her freedom was seize Gnalmij by the throat and pin him against the wall.

"For…the love of…get…your hands…"

"Give me one reason why I should!" She hissed at the rightfully frightened guard.

With what little strength he had left, Gnalmij jingled the keys at her general direction to which Helga dropped him.

"Humor me. You got sixty seconds to starting now."

"Look." He said. "I don't blame you for wanting me finished, but hear me out; I can get you all out of here if we move immediately."

"Ok. All bets are off." Helga replied tonelessly as she grasped at him again.

"You don't get it I-AYE AYE AYE!" Gnalmij croaked. "K'ciq has gone too far. I should have bailed out when he gave me the orders to deliver him the larvlings, but my brother was spilling over with patriotism and zeal; 'don't question our leader Gnalmij. Just follow orders Gnalmij.' The worst was when he reminded me of how lucky I was compared to him just following around Arnold and keeping him stupid until…look, we got to get out of here. You're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you?!" Helga hissed as she doubled down on strangling him. "I'd sooner trust Typhoid Mary to cook my dinner."

"Slucha o'mnya Blojt, mnya Bunjt mnya Brej-"

"Hold up!" Shouted Jack. "Slucha, o'mnya Blojt, mnya Bunjt mnya Brejt…"

*"You speak Qualx?"*

*"Some in pieces. Your language is a sturdy one to hold. But while corroded, I am cognizant enough to know the Oath of Blood when I hear it."*

*"You hold your own for an earthling."*

*"My gratitude."*

"Ok. I'll bite." Gerald interjected. "What are you talking about?"

"The Blood Oath of Ristet." Jack replied.

"Once again, for the sake of those of us on earth. _What_ _._ _Are_ _._ _You_ _._ _Talking_ _._ _About_?"

"The most sacred oath of the Ristetian race." Gnalmij croaked. "To break or invoke it in vain is a great insult. Almost like your Earthling Second Commandment; 'thou shall not take the name of thy Lord and thy God in vain'. If you could…kinda…not strangle me for a moment…"

With only two of Helga's fingers around his throat, the absconding alien assistant slowly cleared his throat and uttered his promise to the imprisoned earthlings, Jack of course translated.

 _Hear, o my blood my bones my breath the promise of your kinsman Gnalmij; I shall in all my power see to the safe escape of those imprisoned by the orders of K'ciuq. Even should such a task come to the hour of my death._

"Now let's get out of here."

* * *

For fear of K'ciuq and Giarc, Gnalmij had to walk the above ground equivalent of a block before coming upon a manhole that hadn't been accounted for. With all his strength he heaved off the cover and quickly lined up Eleanor, Cecil and Thomas to climb out first followed by the adults.

After his wife and the children, Arnold was fifth in line to crawl up the ladder and out of the manhole. As he took his first breaths of air on the surface in what felt like years, an odd thought occurred to him as he watched Eleanor, Cecil, and Thomas gravitate toward Helga;

This was their first time in Hillwood.

Okay, maybe they visited Aunt Olga and Lila's place when they were babies, but as cognizant beings Cecil and Eleanor had never stepped foot in the city of their parent's childhood. Were it up to them, they would have continued to live in that boarding house; but between Miles and Stella aging, the school system taking a nosedive and the cost of living in the city skyrocketing, Arnold and Helga decided to make their home an hour or so away in the suburbs. Every now and then he thought about taking the kids into the city for a day, but in the shuffle of life this idea always found itself lost.

Once Jack Partfine made it out of the manhole, Gnalmij looked stoically at his former prisoners.

"And now, here is where I have to leave you." He said raising his hand in an attempt to quell their objections. "Like I tried to say before, I sent out my coordinates to forces loyal to the queen. My only hope is that they can stop whatever lunacy K'ciuq and my brother have planned for your planet. As for me, I can only wish you the best of luck to you Arnold and Company, and profoundly apologize for everything."

"So you're not-" Arnold began.

"Believe me. In helping you I have sealed my fate. Though I regret nothing in this matter, running is not an option for me."

"And why not?" Came a sinister voice from behind them. "No. Seriously, don't stop on our account."


	20. The Triad Implodes

It is often said that to the victor go the spoils. Anything of worth belonging to the losing army is taken as a trophy in an act of further asserting dominance.

This maxim immediately leapt to Helga's mind as she and she alone found herself prodded by K'ciuq in the direction of an insultingly small spaceship while Giarc escorted Arnold, Phoebe, Gerald, Lila, Olga, Jack, Thomas, Eleanor, Cecil and Gnalmij back through the manhole to face whatever fate their captors decided to dole out given their escape attempt.

"You know." She began irately. "For all your huffing and puffing earlier about what a haul I am, you'd think I'd be afforded a better cargo space."

K'ciuq chuckled as he pushed Helga into the trunk. As the door slammed shut, she found herself missing the cells in the tunnels; which when compared to her current arrangements seemed spacious and plush.

She wanted to curse.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to bring Ol' Betsy out of retirement and deliver some Earth-style justice to these freaks.

But instead, alone in the darkness, Helga found herself truly helpless, and cried as her thoughts turned to those she held near and dear, and what fresh hell awaited them beneath the city of Hillwood.

* * *

"No. You two stay back."

Packed like sardines in a solitary cell, the rest of the prisoners watched as the door slammed shut and Arnold and Gnalmij were chained against the wall across the way. With a cold chuckle, their captor turned to his brother and shoved the business end of his weapon deep into his neck while awaiting the return of his superior.

"You whom I called brother." Giarc began with a cold chuckle. "In a way, I must be thanking you for this. Your little episode drew out the entire UGAQ army into our territory. And once we, the true Thoraxians deal with _those_ traitors, the conquest of this manure heap can begin. We shall lay waste to this city and every city and country thereafter. Then and only then will no galaxy ever question the might of-"

"Oh, in the name of Ghur'ban, _shut_ _your_ _mouth_ _already_!"

Sensing a prolonged and idealistic rant about the callousness of their mission and the utter stupidity/danger of blind patriotism, Giarc fired a round of plasma into his sibling's face. Just like with Stella and Miles, the beam slammed into its target and what remained of Gnalmij's body crumpled onto Arnold. As the earthlings held their noses, Giarc reveled in the crispy smell of charred flesh and discharged weaponry which filled the sewer.

"One down." He chuckled with a satisfied exhale. "Now for number two…"

The manhole suddenly opened and upon the scent of warfare, K'ciuq hastily scurried into the tunnel.

"Oh, don't tell me I'm too late Giarc. I did wish to relish the life leaving their eyes."

"Far from it, Captain. In fact, I'd go so far as to say your presence at this moment is perfect."

What happened came as a complete shock to everyone; in the blink of an eye Giarc pulled out his weapon and fired directly in the direction of K'ciuq's feet. Once again, the tunnel is filled with an arresting stream of light and the smell of disintegrating skin and bone, only now coupled with the agonizing howls of its victim. Before he can even find it in himself to ask why this is happening, the crippled commander watches in horror as his subordinate puts the safety on his weapon and hoists it in midair while Giarc's lips curl into a cold smile.

"Look at you." he hisses venomously. "Is there one decision in this mission you have made that is good? Was this a game? ' _I will go to Earth, and return as the son of the people with Arnold's head in tow_?' No…This whole mission…under your command, has been one foolish decision after another…"

The butt of Giarc's weapon slams into K'ciuq's jaw with an agonizing level of force. But given the look on the mutinous minion's face, this was only the beginning.

"…rather than present the full extent of our will and might to any _real_ authority…"

 **SLAM**

"…three of us come to earth…"

 **SLAM**

"…armed with some scattered weaponry and a half-baked revenge plot …"

 **SLAM**

"…surrounding some undistinguished waste of carbon and water…"

 **SLAM**

"…as if you and you alone have some familial stake in this. No. My father would spin in his grave knowing The Third Orbit was to be headed by the scion of disloyal filth like Y'niarb."

"What…what are you talking…about…" K'ciuq wheezed. "My father-"

"-was none other than the famed traitor-General himself." Giarc continued. "How funny it must be that T'yr-gasso practically had to twist Larberec's arm into rearing _you_ …only in the end for his son to ensure your demise."

"His…son?..."

Giarc leans in closely, the business end of his weapon practically perforating the skin on K'ciuq's neck as he whispers to his commander the source of all this resentment.

 _It was hours before the Siege of Ghur'ban-gyl, the last regiment of soldiers standing between the Second Orbit and utter annihilation was eroding under warfare. T'yr-gasso knew that the goose was cooked to borrow an earth idiom. All of which added to the fit of depression he had been under since condemning Y'niarb, his favorite general and onetime heir apparent, to death._

 _His dying wish was to see his sons one last time before facing whatever fate had in store for him. His two sons. Was that so much to ask?_

 _For Larberec it was._

 _Feeling slighted for far too long and disgusted by his 'inability to lead' since Y'niarb's execution, the man whom you called father used what little power he had within the hierarchy to hide Gnalmij and I into among those escaping as refugees from war before weaseling his own way out of Thoraxia with you. By the time he had learned of this treachery, the shells rained upon the city; one of which would claim him in its destructive wake._

 _When you felt the mantle of Thoraxia's last great hope fell upon your shoulders all these years later, it seemed fitting for at least one of us to bide our time and wait to bring you to your knees as your family did to ours. I had hoped that my brother would share in this moment, but we all had plans didn't we? He may have_ _decided at the last minute to throw away his chance at glory, but not I._

 _Oh, don't worry though commander, your place in the history books will not be erased. Far from it actually;_ _all life in this universe and beyond will remember the story of K'ciuq, and how just as his ramshackle and short sighted mission was at its bleakest, in stepped Giarc, son of T'yr-gasso Ooosenuped to save the day._

A trio of spirited mirth brings Giarc's rant to a grinding halt. He turns toward the cells to see Eleanor, Cecil and Thomas howling with laughter, a sight which (no surprise) only further stokes the already potent fires of their captor's fury.

"'Ooosenuped?!'" Eleanor manages to say as she clutches her chest. "Really dude? Some miGHTy fREAkING cONqUeror striking fear into the hearts of all, huh?"

"[That's] like naming your pet goldfish 'killer'." Cecil wheezed.

"No, no, no, Eleanor it's a good strategy if you think about it," Thomas replied amidst hiccups. "Have the dumbest possible last name and get your enemy's soldiers to laugh themselves to death so you can conquer them."

Even the adults had no choice but to share a repressed smirk and giggle over the extra-terrestrial tyrant's surname. Soon the tunnel shook with their laughter as well; given all the worrying and sorrow of the day, this was the only coping mechanism they had left.

"Yes, yes, real amusing." Giarc snarled sarcastically. "Though I like my humor a little more physical.

Upon releasing Arnold from his chains, Giarc mustered up all his strength to deliver a solitary blow to Arnold's abdomen with the butt of his weapon. With his prisoner on the ground, Giarc proceeded to practically shove the gun into Arnold's mouth as far as it could go.

"Ta-da, comedic gold." He whispered. "Goodnight Earth, you've been a really good crowd. But now it's time to say goodbye to all of this…"

Giarc's finger slowly began to caress the trigger.

"…and hello to oblivion."

As Arnold closed his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable, an explosion ripped through the tunnel and filled it with a heavy purple smoke.


End file.
